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

In January of 1982, Santa Cruz, CA experienced a gigantic rainstorm that shut down the University (UCSC). The winter quarter was about to begin, and I was desperate to audition for the dance department. My major was painting and while I fantasized about becoming a dancer, I assumed that starting in junior high was too late to even consider it as an option. It wasn’t until I happened upon an impromptu modern dance rehearsal in an empty dining hall that I thought there might be a way to pursue it. Every day I rode any bus that happened to be going in the direction of the campus. Each time I would find the dance studio dark and empty. It was weeks before things were back to some kind of normalcy. I managed to make it to the audition, and I remember two things – doing plies and hearing the dance department chair whisper in my ear, “Where have you been?”

UCSC is sprawled along the hills above Santa Cruz. You can sit in the quiet of a grove of redwood trees while looking down at the crowded boardwalk and hear the screams of the roller coaster riders echo up into the woods. They were two separate worlds: a working-class beach getaway a few miles down the hill from an artsy liberal university that didn’t have grades. Now it’s a bedroom community for the owners of rich Silicon Valley tech companies. No longer can you rent a room for less than $100 dollars or even $1000, and the university has adopted grades. But when I was there, I had no problem living on Top Ramen and hard-boiled eggs. I never felt broke because I had fallen in love with dancing, and I was doing it every day.

The founder of the dance program, Ruth Solomon, called that time the golden age. She had the innovative brilliance to create a program that focused on choreography. She invited world renowned dancers, choreographers, and musicians to work with us: Meredith Monk, Betty Walberg, Robert Ellis Dunn, Gus Solomons Jr., and Gordon Mumma. It was an all-encompassing experience. Crazy ideas like taping garbage to the wall, dancing in trees, on blocks of ice, and hoods of old Cadillacs were encouraged. We learned structure and the rewards of self-discovery. We had time, space, and freedom. All art was available for inspiration and example. I wrote haikus, made costumes out of grass, and memorized Steve Reich’s “Clapping Music.” The world was open to us. We were seen and understood, and we were taken seriously. We became artists.

We were direct descendants of the postmodern dancers of the ‘60s and ‘70s. While we trained in ballet and other techniques, our work was an exploration outside of the constraints of convention. We included props, theater, spoken word, pedestrian movements, non-dancers, and we used alternative spaces to show our work. Experimentation, chance, and playfulness was the priority. We used it all with no hesitation.

Graduating and leaving that fertile, small world on the hill was not easy. The safety net, the camaraderie, and the friendships were not as accessible as they once were. Some friends went to New York, others to San Francisco, including myself, and a few went back to their parents’ homes. But the need to work and to create stayed with me.

So, I worked shitty jobs, lived on meager earnings, asked friends and acquaintances to be in my work without pay, and I made dances. For more than 10 years, I ran a dance company and produced numerous shows at every local theater in San Francisco I could afford.

I saw the possibilities of dance and film when I discovered videos of Pina Bausch and her company. She had not yet performed in the US, and the only way I could see her work was to view video tapes at the Goethe-Institut library in San Francisco. I saw in those images the potential for movement to be transformed, embellished, and fragmented. I started filming dancers with a Super 8 camera. My shows soon included live dancers and projections. My choreography expanded into another discipline altogether. While I sometimes mourned choreographing in the studio, I could also see how film broadened my view of dance. It intensified and refueled the drive and motivation that began in Santa Cruz.

Keeping a company together became increasingly difficult. The balance of work and creativity was exhausting. The idea of cleaning more toilets or getting coffee for my boss every day started to get old. Graduate school seemed like a possibility. Maybe I could teach film and make a living? So, I applied and was accepted at the San Francisco Art Institute. I was introduced to incredible groundbreaking experimental films. I also experienced the poetic originality of Maya Deren and Chris Marker. Film and dance connected through movement, metaphor, poetry, sound, and emotion. I found a possible approach to teaching and I have been teaching since the ‘90s.

Over the years, I have often wondered why my experience at UCSC was so impactful. How could a short period in my life sustain its influence and even grow? Was I alone in feeling this? Was the convergence of creativity as pivotal for my friends as it was for me? How does the language of dance communicate on so many levels and to all kinds of people? I wanted to find out and I wanted to recapture that coming together of creative minds. I missed it and I missed my friends. Film is how I would do it. Recording the present as well as the recollection of the past. For more than 15 years, I ruminated over this project. I needed that time to learn more about film and figure out my direction and perspective. And then I dove in, and Muscle Memory was in motion.

I wanted my friends to tell me what they remembered, and I also wanted them to dance again. All of us are in our 50s and 60s with the keen awareness that we can no longer move as we used to. What can I create that truthfully investigates how meaningful dance was for us then and whether it still is now? I wanted my friends to participate and collaborate. I asked and they said yes. Some of us had not spoken for a decade. And while old alliances, resentments, insecurities, and body issues did rear their heads, being together gave us courage. Age and experience became an asset and an inspiration.

Two things were very clear. I would explore the relationship between choreography and video, and how they can be used to enhance the stories and experiences my friends revealed. And for the first time, I would participate in the film not just as a filmmaker, but also as a dancer and interviewee.

My friends/dancers were given written movement instructions. They interpreted and memorized the sequences. The words describe movement that is gestural in nature and intimate in tone. The dancers did not get direction from me until after they created their own meaning in the movements.

My methods rely on the collaboration, cooperation, and interpretation of the dancers involved. I set up structures, and the material that is developed informs my film direction, camera movement, composition, and setting. The dancers interpret the movements, set the pace, and emphasize moments. I decide where they will perform, who they will perform with, how often they will do the phrases, how fast, and how slow.

I give no other directions regarding tone, emotion, or style. In this way the dancers allow the movements themselves to influence how it makes them feel. Clenching fists and jumping frantically feels very different than writhing on the floor in slow motion. The dancers create the narratives that help them remember the movements. Then they show me what they have created and that in turn generates new ideas and narratives for me. The movement sequences are metaphorical and symbolic, and become important dynamic communication in partnership with the spoken words and interviews.

The camera is part of the choreography and films the dancers from many different angles and shot sizes. The camera person, myself, often becomes part of the dance, moving with and around the dancers as they are being filmed. I observe and allow the movement to direct my choices as a filmmaker. From that material, I pull out sections that resonate most for me and, with the help of my editor, Caren McCaleb, we put together the strongest screen dance moments.

Seeing dancers in middle age is not common or accepted. Dancers are supposed to be young, often tiny, flexible, and full of energy. Not chubby, wrinkly, and creaky. And yet, the dancers in Muscle Memory can access who they used to be. The motions may be smaller but the memories in the muscles are still full of emotion. They still feel the thrill and excitement of moving together, of learning work, of discovering and creating meaning in it. There is an intrinsic dignity to the movement that comes through in their bodies even now.

I decided early on not to conduct formal interviews. I wanted viewers to witness the intimacy of our friendships. I included myself in the frame which results in a conversation more than an interview. In other sections, I filmed extreme close-ups where the dancers look directly into the lens. This offers a more internal perspective of their recollections. If viewers see people in a film looking directly at them while revealing intimate personal thoughts and reflections, there’s a much better chance they will care.

For other sections, I asked the dancers to sit at a card table with a visible microphone. I gave them a stack of index cards with personal questions and asked them to read the cards out loud and answer any, all, or part of them. This is another way to engage viewers with personal revelations while at the same time prompting their imagination to fill in the blanks when questions are not answered.

The dancers share personal stories that have deeply affected their lives and they reflect on themes such as age, family, relationships, identity, regret, and friendship. The dance sections use movement language to emphasize, explore, and share what cannot be verbalized. The ambivalence of getting a face lift, the shame of being homeless, the disappearance of the creative urge, losing a partner to a devastating brain tumor, and undergoing electric shock therapy are all revealed in words and movement.

Most of my friends were quite generous with archival footage and photographs from their past. Years into the project, when I had a refined rough cut, one friend handed over 25 VHS tapes. I was both excited and freaked out. Was this footage even usable? It was a treasure and revealed early versions of what would become brilliant choreography. Performances in attics and basements, youthful bodies smoking, drinking until dawn, and laughing about making it to ballet class by 9 a.m. magically reappeared. Here was the evidence of our devotion, our extreme commitment to dance and play. We had to include it. So, my editor and I proceeded to redo almost the entire film. As difficult as that sounds, the film is much better for it.

Six years in the making, the film is free of sentimentality. It is a recognition of an extraordinary time when we were free to be daring and original. It reveals the heartbreak, joy, and realities of being an artist, the inevitable physical changes, regret, disappointment, and the accomplishments we experienced. Working together again revived the love of dance despite some limits of our bodies and the reliability of our memories. The journey of creating Muscle Memory returned us all to a place of joy, a place that is accessible at any age.

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Mary Trunk is a filmmaker, choreographer, and multimedia artist living in Altadena, CA. She has been producing and directing documentaries, dance videos, experimental hybrid films, and paintings for more than 30 years. Mary is also a film, video, and screen dance professor at Loyola Marymount University, Mount St. Mary’s University, and Art Center College of Design. She is a graduate of the University of California at Santa Cruz and the San Francisco Art Institute. Her work can be found at www.maandpafilms.com, www.musclememoryproject.com, and @marytrunk.

Readers can access Muscle Memory for free until February 1^st, 2023 by visiting vimeo.com/739270881  and using the password ‘Memory.’ Two earlier films, The Watershed, (promo code: TheWatershed) and Lost in Living, (promo code: Lostinliving) are available to rent for free until February 28^th, 2023.

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

The post The Movement of Memory appeared first on Stance on Dance.

I’m excited to announce the release of Stance on Dance’s second issue! In case you haven’t heard, Stance on Dance launched a twice-a-year print publication this past summer. Each issue features 6-8 dance writers from across the country and globe who share their stories and perspectives. I’m excited to send a copy of each issue to folks who donate at least $25 a year to support Stance on Dance’s arts journalism nonprofit. I also send free copies to college dance programs and other dance learning spaces. And because Stance on Dance is devoted to ensuring access, all the articles in the print publication will be published on stanceondance.com over the next couple months.

In this upcoming fall 2022 issue, there are several informative and thoughtful articles in store: Snowflake Calvert’s edifying essay on pretendians in dance, Michelle Chaviano’s vulnerable essay about her road to loving her body, Shebana Coelho’s musings and encounters while studying flamenco in Spain, Sarah Groth’s whimsical and other-worldly illustrations, Aiano Nakagawa’s story of overcoming her teenage body image demons, Kathryn Roszak’s profile of Wendy Whelan, Janet Eilber, and Lia Cirio, all women leaders in the dance field, Mary Trunk’s meditative essay on her process making a film about aging in dance, and Nikita Winkler’s profile of traditional Namibian dance artist West Uarije. Also included are interviews I conducted with Ralph Buck, Head of Dance Studies at the University of Auckland and UNESCO’s first Co-Chair on Dance and Social Inclusion, and Yashoda Thakore, a Kuchipudi dancer and scholar in India whose current research focuses on women temple dancers. I’m excited to include so many voices and perspectives in this issue, and to give these dance writers a platform to practice and share their craft!

Cover art by Sarah Groth

In addition to covering dance artists and supporting dance writers, another integral part of Stance on Dance’s mission is distributing dance journalism to the next generation of dance artists. That’s why we have given away more than 80 free copies of our print publication to several college dance programs and other dance learning spaces, including California State University East Bay, Florida International University, University of San Francisco, University of Richmond, University of Florida, University of Silicon Andhra, Old Dominion University, Texas Christian University, Antioch University New England, Shawl-Anderson Dance Center, and Ohio State University. My hope is that students pick up a copy of Stance on Dance, learn about the vast and myriad ways there are to be a dance artist, and perhaps even get excited about dance journalism.

If you work with a college dance program or other dance learning space and would like to learn more about this program, please reach out to me at emmaly@stanceondance.com. And if you’re reading this and thinking, “I would love to write about dance!” then of course get in touch! My goal is to elevate dance journalism by making it accessible for anyone who has a stance on dance.

Even Doozle is reading Stance on Dance!

The post Working to Fulfill Stance on Dance’s Mission appeared first on Stance on Dance.

Mary Trunk is involved in Muscle Memory, an interactive video project examining age and dance. The premise of her project is a reunion of sorts with peers from her college dance department, now in their 50s. Where has dance taken them? What role has it played in their life? And how has their dance continued?

What was the genesis of the Muscle Memory project?

Muscle Memory is a project that has been on my mind for many years. The desire to explore the core of my creative experiences ruminated in my brain for a very long time.

I started college at UCSC as a painter and visual artist but I had always loved dance. I was a late comer to it, and didn’t think it was something I had real talent for. My drawing skills seemed much more developed. What I found out was that it really didn’t matter what level my experience was. If dance trumped drawing, then I should go for it.

After seeing a student dance performance while eating my dinner in the dorm dining hall I thought, “Can I do that?” I auditioned for the dance department and I’ll always remember when the head of the department came behind me as I was warming up and said, “Where have you been?” I laugh about that; I have great feet and I think that’s why she said it. I’m not flexible and my body does not fit the dancer stereotype.

That was the beginning of my dance life. I abandoned all my art classes and fully immersed myself in dance and performance. I loved every very minute of it, even when I was absolutely terrified to perform or show my work. I look back on that time as the most creatively inspiring part of my life. In many ways, it gave me the permission to be creative, to find my own voice and to take risks in ways I never would have outside of that environment. That period and those experiences have stayed with me even as I became a filmmaker.

So that’s the long way of saying that I have had this strong feeling and need to reflect on that time, to see if others felt like I did, to examine why that time sparked such a drive in myself and possibly others. As the head of the department, Ruth Solomon, said to me in her interview, “It was the golden age of the dance department.” And it seemed that way to me.

As I entered my 50s, having just completed a documentary film about mothers who are also artists (www.maandpafilms.com/lostinliving), I realized it was time to investigate my former dance life. I wanted to reignite that passion for dance. I wanted to talk to my former dance partners and friends about what dance meant to them, if they are still dancing and how dance shaped who they are now.

How is the project organized?

I reached out to people I danced with in college. Specifically, people who had inspired me with their choreography, their performances and their commitment to a creative life. Some of these people I had stayed in contact with over the years while others I had not. Everyone I approached was enthusiastic and game for participating.

Many were nervous about the idea of actually dancing again. I convinced them that the movements would be gestural and open to their interpretation. I wanted the project to be a hybrid of sorts: part dance video, part documentary and part interactive web site. Since everyone lives in different parts of the world, I sent them written choreography and instructions to create other types of work to include in the project. This work includes sound, photos, archival footage, their own videos, text, etc. The work they send me will be compiled into a personal webpage for each participant so viewers can enter their world and their stories from different vantage points. A composer friend, also from college, will organize the sounds to create individual sound scores for each individual as well as for the entire project.

I have also visited some of the participants to film them dancing the choreography. I wanted them in their own environments, wearing their own clothes and moving in ways that felt most comfortable to them. We chose interior spaces and exterior landscapes that each person felt drawn to or had emotional feelings for. So far, I’ve filmed in New York, San Francisco and Santa Cruz. I hope to get to Toronto and Sweden at some point. This footage will be integrated into the documentary footage as well as part of a dance video. I want to use their movements to tell my own story through dance and that’s partly why I’ve decided to be in the project. The documentary element will include interviews with the participants, dance video footage and archival material.

Last summer I contacted the alumni foundation of UCSC to see if they would provide special funds for all of us to meet on campus to film and create new work. They helped us obtain the use of our former dance studio for a full four days of choreographing and filming. Some of that footage is in the first video excerpt, Muscle Memory #1. It was a fantastic experience to surrender once again to that kind of work. Dancing with others and creating movements brought back all those incredible feelings of being in the space of creative flow. No one cared what anyone looked like, that we weren’t as limber as we used to be. We just did it and it felt right.

Where does the project stand now?

The current video will be used to help raise funds to complete the project. It is definitely an excerpt of something I hope will be more comprehensive and multi-dimensional. I have accumulated a lot of footage already and I have plans to do more over the summer. I’m hoping to complete the project by summer of 2017. Either way I will continue to make sections to share.

What were some surprises you didn’t expect while making the project?

I was happy to know that people were so willing to dance again even if they hadn’t in a long time. For some it seemed like I was giving them a great gift, and that was incredibly gratifying.

The one thing that I might call a surprise is that some of the participants didn’t have the same experience I did in college. I expected that, of course, but I think my assumption was that everyone loved that time period. Not everyone did. Which is definitely good conflict for the project. Overall, though, I chose people who saw dance as a huge part of their lives and in some ways still do.

What do you hope to convey to others through the Muscle Memory project?

I hope that others can experience the delight and joy in expressing oneself at any point in one’s life. Why is it that a person who is in their 50s (or older) is sometimes considered less valuable or less expressive than a younger person? Especially in the dance world…

I also want to show how people remain creative in all kinds of ways even if they have stopped dancing. How life can push you in a direction you didn’t expect and how you make it work, how you deal with regret, pain, illness, family life, jobs, children and identity. Do we have the capacity to stay creative and be resilient and how do we do that? I hope Muscle Memory can show that.

Why is a dialogue on aging in dance important?

We as a culture are seriously conditioned to see youth as having all the value. It is ironic that our demographic of older people is growing so much. It’s obviously time to change the paradigm and see the beauty and worth in aging. Possibly that’s why I’m making this project – to come to terms with my own bias about aging. It shocks me that I sometimes feel embarrassed that I’m aging. But that doesn’t mean I can’t still dance and make work, and I plan on doing that.

I think video is a wonderful way to reframe dance in a different art form and show all ages moving. Just by way of composition, close-ups, camera movement, etc., I can focus on people in ways that will bring viewers closer and experience dance as something for all ages.

The post Between Memory and Muscle 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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