It feels wrong to dance

when there are people out there

who prioritize weapons over the welfare

of their children,

Who choke on power and greed

while the rest of us struggle to breathe.

It feels wrong to dance

on the graves of the thousands of people

who die daily

from war,

from hate,

from fear gone viral.

It feels wrong to dance

when respect for ourselves,

our neighbors,

our country

has been reduced to a sad, tattered rag

flapping in the wind.

It feels wrong to dance

on the surface of a planet

that has done everything it can

to support and nurture us,

and that we have only deceived and decimated.

Who are we to dance?

When so many can’t walk

or run

or sleep

without being targeted.

Who are we to dance?

When so many can’t safely leave their homes,

and so many others don’t have homes to leave.

Who are we to feel the joy that comes

when movement meets music

and creates magic?

It feels so wrong to dance,

to float across the floor to a beautiful melody

when there is so much chaos, darkness

and ugliness in the world.

Maybe that’s the point.

Maybe dance is the antidote to this poison,

a light in the darkness.

When you dance, you can’t scream hateful rhetoric.

You can’t throw rocks or blame.

You can’t break windows or bones.

Your anger is channeled

and transformed into calm.

When we’re calm, we can hear each other.

When we’re calm, we can help each other.

So even though it feels wrong to dance,

perhaps we must.

Perhaps we must dance

because we need its magic.

The magic that happens when chaotic emotion is transformed

into powerful rhythm.

Perhaps we must dance

to reintroduce balance, flow,

beauty and peace

back into the world.

Perhaps we must dance to save ourselves

and to save each other.

So dance, my dear dancers,

but do it with purpose.

Dance here, now, so your light can shine.

Dance to listen.

Dance to understand.

Dance to empower and inspire good in this world.

Dance with trust, reason, and compassion.

Dance for others

and dance for yourself.

Remember:

We are the music makers,

    And we are the dreamers of dreams,

Wandering by lone sea-breakers,

    And sitting by desolate streams; —

World-losers and world-forsakers,

    On whom the pale moon gleams:

Yet we are the movers and shakers

    Of the world for ever, it seems.

-Ode by Arthur O’Shaughnessy

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Katie Flashner, a.k.a. The Girl with the Tree Tattoo, is a published author, blogger, and dancer based in mid-coast Maine. She loves exploring her creativity through nature, movement, and the written word, and revels in living in a place where there are more trees than people. You can catch her wandering through the woods on Instagram at @thegirlwiththetreetattoo.

Sarah Groth is an interdisciplinary performer, choreographer, teacher, poet, and mixed medium visual artist. After achieving a degree in Contemporary Dance and Intercultural Communications from the University of New Mexico, Sarah set out as an independent artist and traveler. She has had the privilege of moving, creating, and performing with renowned international artists across the world. Sarah has been published in the Albuquerque Journal, Blue Mesa Review, Daily Lobo, Stance on Dance, and Forty South. Sarah is committed to addressing the complexities of humanness in conjunction with self and community — aiming to bring the intensely intimate forward, creating openness within juxtaposition and identity.

The post It Feels Wrong to Dance appeared first on Stance on Dance.

Note: This essay was first published in Stance on Dance’s spring/summer 2022 print issue. To learn more, visit stanceondance.com/print-publication.

As a dancer, I was committing career suicide. Southern California was full of opportunities to train with champion-level dancers in any of the four ballroom styles. I could compete at multiple prestigious events without ever having to get on a plane. I already had one World Champion title under my belt and was determined to dance away with another one.

Then I decided to move to the opposite corner of the country: Maine, a state where there are no ballroom competitions and barely any studios. Even the franchises have avoided setting up shop in the Pine Tree State.

“Why Maine?” people always ask me. The short answer, I tell them, is “more trees and less people.”

Photo by Katie Flashner

Before the pandemic, I was in high gear preparing for the 2020 competitive season. I was training with my dance coach, who was also my partner in the Pro-Am (Professional-Amateur) circuit, in both the American Smooth and American Rhythm styles (a total of nine different dances). I was also training with a new amateur partner to make our debut on the Am-Am (Amateur-Amateur) circuit in the American Smooth style (four dances). All this training took place during evenings and weekends because I worked full-time during the week for an environmental consulting firm.

My daily life was choreographed to the minute as I tried to balance a full-time job, an ambitious dance journey, a weekly blog, and caring for my two shepherd-husky mixes. Some weeks went better than others.

On March 13, 2020, everything changed. An email from the CEO of my company arrived midday and instructed everyone to go home until further notice. Our offices were shutting down due to the COVID-19 pandemic. On March 15, the next competition on my calendar announced they were canceling the event by order of the county health department. The events fell like dominos after that, as the country went into lockdown.

It was over the summer of 2020 when the idea that it was time to move came to me. For several years, my ballroom dance journey had been the only thing keeping me in Orange County. I wasn’t originally from the OC. I had family and friends all over the country. My work could be done from anywhere. I stayed because that’s where my dance coaches were.

The pause placed on my dance training due to the pandemic gave me the space and time to realize I wasn’t happy where I was. I was productive and even successful, but I wasn’t happy. I lived and worked under a constant layer of stress that was only amplified by the virus. I didn’t realize how much it had affected me until after I moved to Maine and felt the opposite – unburdened contentment.

The time spent away from the dance studio also made me realize that my dance goals were no longer enough of a reason to stay. The world was permanently changed and working toward another World Champion title didn’t feel as important anymore. In this new version of the world, I felt called to explore a greater purpose for my dancing. I felt strongly that whatever that purpose was, Maine was the place I was meant to be.

As I said goodbye to my dance coach, I insisted we would dance together again. The pandemic showed everyone that remote was possible for almost anything, including dance training. I envisioned a future life where I would take weekly lessons via Zoom and then fly across the country every few months for a marathon of in-person lessons. We could even meet at competitions a day early to reconnect and get in some last-minute rehearsals. Long distance partnerships were not unheard of, and we could make it work.

Photo by Gary Flashner

Every time the words left my mouth, I secretly doubted them. I wasn’t about to accept that my life as a competitive ballroom dancer was over just because I was moving to the other side of the country. But given the amount of work I had to put in to make my amateur dance career work on the side of my “real life” when I lived in the same county as my dance coach and partner, adding in the long distance and extra travel expenses felt like the final straws that would break me. Thankfully, years of dance and mindset coaching taught me that if I truly want to accomplish something, I can and will make it happen. So as I headed east in a 1996 station wagon packed to the brim, I told myself to just breathe and trust that dance would always be there for me.

My new home in Maine is 120 years old. It stands at the top of a hill surrounded by fields and forest, and it is glorious. I moved in the summer, and for the first couple months, I woke up to birds singing and the sun shining (literally). The stress of living and working in Orange County melted off my tired shoulders and I was finally able to exhale and breathe in fresh air. I was happy, truly.

As a dancer, I knew I wouldn’t stay content to simply exist in this little piece of paradise that was all mine. I needed to move my body and challenge myself. I didn’t know how I was going to make a long-distance dance partnership work, but I wanted to keep my body in dancing shape so it would be ready when I figured it all out.

The transition from a very specific goal-oriented dance path to a broader, exploratory dance path felt like a relief at first. I found a local studio where I could take Zumba and ballet classes. Later, I joined a styling class where we played with swing-inspired routines. I was feeding my inner dancer’s needs for fun, technique, and creativity, and I didn’t have to deal with the stress of preparing for a competition.

At the same time, I missed that feeling of all my hard work coming together, going full out, and leaving everything on the competition dance floor. I missed connecting with my fellow competitors, many of whom I only saw at events, as well as meeting the dancers who followed my blog and found inspiration in my stories. I missed working one-on-one with my dance coaches and celebrating those moments when I discovered a deeper layer to the movement, like another puzzle piece clicking into place in my brain.

Exploration can start to feel aimless and unproductive for someone who is used to always having a specific goal to work toward. I was doing a decent amount of dancing, but some days, I wondered why. Where was the greater purpose?

As events restarted and more and more dancers returned to the competition floor, I watched from social media and grieved for that life. It felt like everyone was moving on without me. At the same time, I loved living in Maine! This place felt more like home than anywhere else I had ever lived, and I had never been happier. It sounds contradictory, but in fact, it’s a great example of Life’s beautiful complexity that inspires so much of art, including dance. Waltz is made up of both rises and falls; we must embrace both in order to move to the music.

Photo by Gary Flashner

The forest behind my house became a favorite place to go for walks with my dogs and gain further perspective on my dance journey. Dancers are often quoted saying things like, “I don’t love to dance. I have to dance.” But as I listened to the wind in the trees, I wondered what my fellow dancers would do if they could never compete or perform again. Would they still dance as much? Would they still train as hard? For a competitive dancer, how important is the aspect of competition to their identity as a dancer?

I felt called to seek out a greater purpose for my dancing, but I couldn’t deny that I was a competitive dancer. I thrived on that floor where all my training and passion came together and was tested. Through the years, I had grown beyond the need to prove myself to the judges in order to feel like a good dancer, but I’ll admit I loved the challenge of performing in front of people who would know if I messed up a step or not. That extra pressure of being watched brought out the side of me who likes showing people just what she can do.

Those walks through the woods helped me realize I also love being able to inspire others by meeting that challenge and staying true to myself at the same time. The dance world is full of pressures to look and behave certain ways. I do not fit the ideal image of a ballroom dancer, but I won a World title anyway.

In Maine, I’m facing a new challenge. How do I continue to grow and thrive in an area with few resources for ballroom dancers? How do I continue to connect with and inspire others when I’m not visible at competitive events?

Part of the answer lies in not restricting the definition of who I am as a dancer and not letting location or event dictate when I can be an inspiration. Yes, I’m a ballroom dancer. Yes, I’m a competitive dancer. That doesn’t mean I can’t also be a ballet dancer or a west coast swing dancer. I’ve had women tell me after Zumba class that they love watching me dance in class, that they feel inspired by the way I move. Did I go into Zumba prepared to perform like I did for a competition? No, of course not, I went to dance off some stress and get a great workout! My inner dancer can’t help but go full out.

Another part of the answer lies in the local community. As I’ve sought out opportunities to dance in my area, I’ve learned there are in fact active dance communities here. They just don’t happen to waltz. There are dance studios who have competitive teams and put on performances multiple times a year. There are social dance groups slowly becoming more active as the impacts of the pandemic ease. Dance is here; it just doesn’t look the same as it did during my life in California.

The final thing I realized in the forest is that I have time. I am not going to reach a point when my identity as a dancer will expire because it’s been too long since I’ve appeared on a stage or at a competition. I do not have to give up on my future as a dancer simply because I moved to an area where dance is less prevalent. I won’t stop being a ballroom dancer because I focus on learning other dance styles that are more readily available to me. Whether I’m surrounded by skyscrapers or towering trees, I am still a dancer and always will be.

Photo by Gary Flashner

~~

To follow Katie’s dance journey in Maine, go to thegirlwiththetreetattoo.com.

Katie Flashner, a.k.a. The Girl with the Tree Tattoo, is a World Champion ballroom dancer and published author. Since starting her blog in 2015, she has welcomed thousands of visitors who value her openness and willingness to share the good, the bad, and the awkward of her journey while shedding light on the rarely addressed mental and emotional aspects of being a ballroom dancer. Katie currently lives in mid-coast Maine with her two dogs and enjoys watching the extended versions of The Lord of the Rings when she isn’t dancing or writing.

This essay was first printed in Stance on Dance’s spring/summer 2022 print issue. To learn more, visit stanceondance.com/print-publication.

The post A Dancer in the Woods 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.

BY EMMALY WIEDERHOLT

Katie Flashner is a ballroom dancer based in Southern California. Her blog, The Girl with the Tree Tattoo, offers inspirational stories and practical guidance for the Pro-Am ballroom dancer. She recently published two books – A Journal for the Whole Dance Journey and The Choreography Journal. Here, she described how and why she created these two books, as well as how she hopes they serve dancers at any level or in any genre by giving them a framework to reflect, motivate, learn and improve.

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Can you share a little about your dance practice – how did you get into dance, and what have been some highlights from your dance history?

I started ballroom dancing in 2012. My coworker introduced me to the studio where I still train today. Once I tried it, it stuck. In 2013, I started training with my current teacher, who has also been my competitive partner since 2014. We compete together in what’s called the Pro-Am circuit, which stands for “professional-amateur.” We compete in the American smooth style, which consists of waltz, tango, foxtrot and Viennese waltz. I’m humbled and proud to say I’ve always done well. In competitions, I almost always place second or first, or at least in the top three.

2017 was an unusual year. I did three competitions that year, and in each competition I placed lower. In the Embassy Ballroom World Championships, I placed fifth out of seven couples, placing me in the bottom three. That was a major blow to my ego, but it also became the catalyst for my last book, The Solo Practice Guide for Ballroom Dancing. Ballroom dancing is a partner dance but practicing steps and technique on your own is key. I put all my strategies and the framework I developed in my own solo practice into a book. And these strategies work! I returned to the World Championships in 2018 where I competed in the same division and placed first out of 11 couples, earning me a world title. That’s been the biggest highlight of my dance career so far.

Since then, I moved up a division but only competed once this year. I had knee injuries at the beginning of the year that slowed down my training.

What inspired you to write your two recently published books?

Since publishing The Solo Practice Guide for Ballroom Dancing last year, I’ve wanted to work on my next book, but it’s been hard to pull concrete ideas out of the ether. So I sent out a poll on social media asking my readers what they need next: What are you struggling with? What’s still holding you back?

The response that came up most was organization. The Solo Practice Guide included worksheets for taking notes on solo sessions, but there are still private lessons, group classes, coachings and workshops. Readers responded that their notes were all over the place and it was hard to feel organized. They wished they had all their notes together in one place that was strategically designed. That’s where I got the idea for A Journal for the Whole Dance Journey. I’ve been calling it the dance journal to rule all dance journals. It includes specific design features that address my readers’ concerns, such as a way to easily index your notes. If you’re wondering where your notes are on foxtrot from two months ago, instead of scanning through every page, I created a feature on the side of the pages where you can flip through the book quickly and find the notes you’re looking for.

The Choreography Journal came out of my knee injuries. I was diagnosed with chondromalacia patella, which means the cartilage underneath my kneecaps is wearing down and causing me pain. In the beginning of the year, the pain was enough that I had to pull back from my lessons and practice. Everyone was telling me to rest, but I just wanted to train. I felt like I was falling behind.  My teacher challenged me to write out the choreography of our routines as an alternative to going to the studio to practice. I’d never mapped out my choreography on paper before; I usually used videos. But I figured I was a writer and I could do this. It ended up being very challenging. I looked online and found a few systems for writing down choreography, like Labanotation, but I ended up creating my own simplified way. When I shared it with my readers, they really liked it. So I designed a second journal, The Choreography Journal, that was more than a lined notebook that says, “Choreography” on the front cover. It gives dancers a foundation and structure for recording their choreography.

How did you design these books?

I hired a graphic designer to help me. Her name is LeAnna, and Weller Smith Design is her company. I knew her through an entrepreneur group that I’m part of. She had been talking about launching a new service line called Productologie for people who wanted to create a product extension to the services their business offered. I was her first Productologie client. I gave her the ideas and vision, and she brought the design to life.

How would you describe A Journal for the Whole Dance Journey?

When you first open it, there’s a full page that asks you to write out commitments to yourself, both things you’re committing to do and things you’re committing not to do, like, “I won’t only pick out the bad things I see in my dance videos.” Dancers are perfectionists, so we always feel like we need to do more. I want to help people be more self-aware, so they have balance. I don’t want people to always feel like they’re not doing enough. There are also two pages to write out your current status as a dancer, including what has been working for you and what hasn’t, and your intentions or goals moving forward.

Then the meat of the journal is where you record your dance training notes. There are dates at the top of the pages so you can write a page a day, or ignore the dates and use multiple pages for one class. There are also prompts like, “What did you do well today?” or “What do you want to do next time?” They’re present but not obtrusive; if someone needs to journal for five pages, they can just write without the prompts interfering. But if they want the prompts, they are there. There are also four check-in points throughout the journal that prompt you to revisit the goals and intentions you made at the beginning, and then set new ones or reaffirm old ones.

And how would you describe The Choreography Journal?

It’s divided into ten sections. Each section begins with dance floor diagrams. You can sketch out your routine to see how it moves across the floor or stage spatially. Then there’s a blank page for story and character ideas. I made it blank because I wanted readers’ creativity to flow without restrictive lines: What story is the dance telling? What character do you want to embody? After that, there are multiple lined pages. There’s a column of short dashes along the left side of the page, and every third line across the page is also dashed. These design features are meant to give people a place to write out timing, either across the page or down the left side, depending on how much detail people want to go into about the movement for each count. The journal also includes a similar feature as The Whole Dance Journey – a space on the side of the page to write the dance style and name to make it easier to index.

Why do you believe these journals could be useful to any style of dancer?

My exposure to dance is through the ballroom world, but through the little exposure I have had to other styles, I see the common threads. I believe it’s important to make commitments to yourself, to show up, and to not overly criticize. I didn’t want to design the journals specifically around ballroom dances, because any style of dancer could benefit from organizing and structuring their dance notes. I also didn’t want the journals to be too loose in their design. If you look for a choreography journal on Amazon, there’s nothing really structured beyond lined or gridded pages. I wanted to create something with a little more guidance in its design, but that was still flexible enough for any dancer to use.

Are the books intended to be used together?

They certainly can, but they stand on their own. I created the two because I think it’s important to keep routines and choreography separate from day-to-day training. This is influenced by my ballroom background; we have our competition routines, and then we might have practice routines or drills. The master routines can be preserved without getting mixed in with the day-to-day notes.

Are the books intended for all levels?

They are intended for all levels, but I suspect that more professional dancers won’t need them as much as amateur level dancers. I see professionals as having their flow down as far as how they document their training and record their choreography. I’m targeting those who are still finding their way. That’s usually who I’m envisioning when I write for my blog. However, there might be plenty of professionals who could use journals like these! I would love to have created something that could help professional dancers or teachers, not just students.

How have you personally grown through the process of putting together these two books?

So much! It’s fascinating how I’ve evolved as I move along my dance journey and my entrepreneur journey. My dancing and writing complement each other. This past year, having both knees injured and sitting on the sidelines was very challenging emotionally. The journals help me feel like I’m still fulfilling my purpose. If I can’t dance, I can serve other dancers. As I’m going along my own journey, I ask what gaps or struggles I’m running into where there’s not a good resource to help me. With The Solo Practice Guide, there were professional opinions and advice on how to practice alone, but it’s different when you start dancing as an adult and already have a full life. It doesn’t mean you can’t grow as a dancer; you just approach it a little differently. I’m trying to fill in the gap between the teacher and the student. I want to help students handle and cope with all the variables in their dance training.

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To learn more, visit thegirlwiththetreetattoo.com.

The post Journaling the Whole Dance Journey appeared first on Stance on Dance.

It’s incredible to look back at the past three years and see how much ballroom dancing has changed me. It didn’t take long for ballroom to take over my life. If you would have told me in 2011 that I would spend thousands of dollars a year to get dressed up in a sparkly pink dress and be covered in an absurd amount of makeup and hairspray in order to compete in ballroom dance, I would have laughed. If you would have told me at the end of 2012, less than a year after starting ballroom dance lessons, that I would be on a stage performing my very first showcase routine, I would have scoffed and said, “Yeah, right!” But I also would have secretly hoped you were telling the truth.

Ever since I gave up dancing as a child after my family moved across country and I was too scared to start at a new studio, I yearned to get back to dance. I loved musicals and watching great stars like Gene Kelly and Fred Astaire dance across a floor with their leading ladies. I wanted to be one of those ladies.

But as an adolescent, fear always won out and kept me from saying anything to my parents or looking into dance classes. By the time I was in college, I assumed it was too late to start pursuing something like ballet. All of the great dancers danced before they could walk, right? I couldn’t do crazy things like a split or hold my leg over my head. I wasn’t a “dancer.” But the desire to dance wouldn’t go away.

Then came ballroom. I was 29 years old on my first private lesson, and one of the youngest students in the studio! The majority were in their 40s or 50s, some even past 70. And we were all dancers. Ballroom was how I was going to make up for giving up on my dancing dreams all those years ago.

My dancing has focused on the American styles of ballroom: rhythm and smooth. I danced with my first teacher for about eight months and started off learning the American rhythm style, which consists of cha cha, rumba, east coast swing, bolero and mambo. Once I switched to my current teacher, we focused on the smooth dances: waltz, tango, foxtrot and Viennese waltz.

As fun as ballroom dancing is, it has made a very serious impact on my life. Deeply buried fears and doubts were brought to the surface. Fear of rejection, fear of abandonment, self-doubt, self-criticism, anxiety and lack of self-confidence – all of these demons came out to play. I thought I was just learning to dance, but I ended up also needing to learn to be vulnerable, to trust and to let go of the control once in a while.

Ballroom is unique in the dance world because it is one of only a few dance forms always danced with a partner. There may be some steps that are danced separately, but you always come back to your partner. There is a great amount of trust involved in a ballroom partnership. The physical contact alone can be unnerving, especially when it’s full-body contact like in the smooth dances, but it is necessary to be able to dance with your partner successfully. I still struggle with the trust factor. I don’t like to depend on others, but I have to in ballroom.

In April 2014, I entered my first pro-am competition, in which students dance with their teachers and compete against other student-teacher couples. It took my ballroom journey to a whole new level. I was paying to be judged. It was an unusual move for someone constantly struggling with the idea that she was “good enough.” But I wanted to push myself. I wasn’t going to let fear and doubt control my decisions anymore. I’ve entered three other competitions since and, to my surprise, my teacher and I have been quite successful, winning first place in the majority of events we have entered. Still, the demons harass me. They haven’t stopped me yet though.

Ballroom dancing has turned into an incredible journey of self-discovery. I have learned more about myself in the last three years than in the previous decade. As a result of my demons being brought to the surface, I have been able to face them and grow stronger and more confident. I walk taller now, even measuring an inch taller at my doctor’s office!

I encourage everyone to try ballroom dancing because anyone can do it! You don’t need to be flexible or strong or young to start; you just need to have the courage to try something new. And a bag of money. I won’t lie; ballroom can get very expensive very quickly! If you decide to dive in any deeper than simply learning a few steps to dance at weddings, the costs add up. I started calling myself “ballroom poor” when I realized I wouldn’t need to watch my budget so carefully if I wasn’t feeding my ballroom addiction. But I wouldn’t give it up for anything. I am so grateful to have found this amazing art/sport and for the chances it has given me to discover who I really am and what I am capable of. I can’t wait to see where it leads me next.

Katie Harrison is known as the Girl with the Tree Tattoo because of the tree of life tattoo that covers her entire back. She has been taking ballroom dancing lessons since December 2012 and competing in pro-am ballroom competitions since April 2014. Katie started her blog, the Girl with the Tree Tattoo, as a way to share her experiences as an amateur ballroom dancer and connect with other dancers and people in general who are pursuing a passion.

The post Hello. My Name is Katie, and I’m Addicted to Ballroom appeared first on Stance on Dance.

Meet our director and editor:

Emmaly Wiederholt is a dance artist and arts journalist based in Albuquerque, NM. She founded Stance on Dance in 2012. Emmaly earned her MA in Arts Journalism from the University of Southern California and her BFA in Ballet and BS in Political Science from the University of Utah. She further trained at the San Francisco Conservatory of Dance and performed extensively around the Bay Area. Her first book, Beauty is Experience: Dancing 50 and Beyond, was published in 2017, and her second book, Breadth of Bodies: Discussing Disability in Dance, was published in 2022. Emmaly is also a master DanceAbility instructor and facilitates movement groups at the UNM Hospital adult psychiatric ward, as well as is a founding member of the dance advocacy nonprofit ABQ Dance Connect. She continues to perform throughout the Southwest.

Photo by Allen Winston

Our contributors have included:

Snowflake Arizmendi-Calvert, a performance artist and organizer in the Bay Area.

Gregory Bartning, a photographer in Portland, OR.

Liz Duran Boubion, the director of the Festival of Latin American Contemporary Choreographers in the Bay Area.

Liz Brent-Maldonado, an artist, writer, educator, and producer in San Francisco, CA.

Michelle Chaviano, a ballet dancer with Ballet North Texas.

Bradford Chin, a disabled dance artist and accessibility consultant in Chicago, IL, and San Francisco, CA.

Shebana Coelho, a writer and performer currently studying flamenco in Spain.

breana connor, an interdisciplinary artist, facilitator + healer in Albuquerque, NM.

Lauren Coons, an interdisciplinary artist, performer, healer and educator in Albuquerque, NM.

Julia Cost, a painter, textile designer, sewist, and dancer in Maui, HI.

Sophia Diehl, a dancer in New York City.

Bonnie Eissner, a writer in New York City.

Katie Flashner, a.k.a. The Girl with the Tree Tattoo, a World Champion ballroom dancer and author in ME.

Micaela Gardner, a dancer and choreographer in Baja, Mexico.

Sarah Groth, an interdisciplinary artist from Albuquerque, NM.

Cherie Hill, a dance educator and choreographer based in the Bay Area.

Lorie House, a dancer, choreographer, and lawyer in NM.

Silva Laukkanen, a dance educator and disability advocate in Austin, TX.

Mary Elizabeth Lenahan, the director of Dance Express in Fort Collins, CO.

Shannon Leypoldt, a dance artist, teacher, and sports massage therapist in Berlin.

Erin Malley, a dance artist and tango teacher based in West Michigan.

Julianna Massa, a dance artist in Albuquerque, NM.

Aiano Nakagawa, a dance artist, educator, facilitator, writer, and event producer in the Bay Area.

Jessie Nowak, a dance artist and filmmaker in Portland, OR.

Kevin O’Connor, a multidisciplinary artist in London, Ontario, and the San Francisco Bay Area.

Bhumi B Patel, an artist/activist based in the Bay Area.

Stephanie Potreck, a sports nutritionist and health advocate who currently resides in Germany.

Jill Randall, artistic director of Shawl-Anderson Dance Center in Berkeley, CA.

Kathryn Roszak, a choreographer, filmmaker, educator, and activist in the Bay Area.

Donna Schoenherr, director of Ballet4Life and Move into Wellbeing in London, UK.

Maggie Stack, a dancer and teacher in Reno, NV.

Camille Taft, a CO front range-based mover and visual artist.

Mary Trunk, a filmmaker, choreographer, and multimedia artist in Altadena, CA.

Diana Turner-Forte, a teaching artist, healing arts coach, and writer in NC.

Ana Vrbaski, a body music practitioner in Serbia.

Nikhita Winkler, a dancer, choreographer, and teacher from Namibia who currently resides in Spain.

Erica Pisarchuk Wilson, a dance artist, visual artist and poet in Albuquerque, NM.

Rebecca Zeh, an interdisciplinary artist in Sarasota Springs, NY.

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Our board:

Snowflake Arizmendi-Calvert

Cathy Intemann

Alana Isiguen

Courtney King

Malinda LaVelle

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The post People appeared first on Stance on Dance.