Note: This essay was first published in Stance on Dance’s spring/summer 2023 print issue. To learn more, visit stanceondance.com/print-publication.

Long before I knew where I was headed in life, the dance studio held a fascination: classical music, sometimes with a live pianist, unobstructed wall-to-wall space, solid hardwood floors with just the right amount of spring and resistance, occasional forays into the imagination as fairies, snowflakes, and floating leaves given the season. And the ultimate — total physical and mental concentration. I couldn’t get enough.

What was irresistible to my creative spirit were the kinesthetic discoveries which challenged my developing frame and provided the opportunities to practice and study near physical perfection in lines, shapes, and musical synchronicity. Even so, no one was more surprised than I when, after two years of college and observing a live performance of the Royal Winnipeg Ballet’s Fall River Legend, I determined that dance would be my profession. With the blessings and monetary assistance of my parents, I moved to Winnipeg, Canada to obtain my professional dance training at the Royal Winnipeg Ballet School.

A professional dance career followed with companies in the United States: Chicago Ballet, San Diego Ballet, Des Moines Ballet, and BalletMet Columbus. These proved to be extraordinary achievements beyond my wildest dreams. Besides the elation of dancing on stages to zealous applause and appreciative audiences, dance education presentations in public schools in close-up, face-to-face interaction with young children was where I caught glimpses of the power of dance to move souls, elevate emotions, and potentially change lives.

Photo by Tim Sayer

My teaching career came about abruptly after an injury (stress fractures on both shins) sidelined me for a year.  In the process of healing and transcending the injury (which at the time was considered medically miraculous), overcoming the pain in my legs, an addiction to ibuprofen, and other emotional factors stilted my desire to return to the concert stage. Whether out of fear or a need for a different focus in life, I explored other avenues.

A short stint in arts administration at the regional and state levels, as well as exploring dance therapy and other somatic methodologies (Alexander Technique and Bartenieff Fundamentals), only made me more aware that my voice and most authentic self-expression emerged from exploring movement in the open space of a dance studio. The yearning to discover the deeper meaning of dance personally, emotionally, and spiritually necessarily required crossing the studio threshold and proved to be both healing and energizing.

The first ballet class I taught consisted of adults who had studied dance previously during childhood, intermittently into adulthood, or professionally for a brief period. They were used to the rigors of a ballet class and didn’t mind my well-crafted lessons overloaded with structure and attention to detail. Essentially, I taught the way I was taught in a strict, disciplined manner. An array of teacher training courses facilitated my growth as an instructor, but not what was of immediate and urgent interest to me: the human form — how muscles functioned, how dancers recovered from the trauma of injuries, how they sustained creativity, and how they maintained emotional and spiritual balance.

The latter became my driving force for teaching dance — there was something beyond the mechanics of the classical ballet training that allowed spirit to come alive in the human form even in the midst of injury and muscular pain. This was something I knew and had observed through the performances of great dancers like Mikhail Baryshnikov, Alicia Alonso, Margot Fonteyn, and others.  And from my own occasional ecstatic moments when I reached the pinnacle of perfection while performing. An underlying current sustained the movement, inexpressible through words, but felt by both dancers and audiences. This current fueled the regal carriage, the grace of the human body, and mobilized artists to push beyond physical boundaries. I found this to be both instructive and awe-inspiring. It sustained my interest in dance.

While teaching didn’t initially seem to provide the highs that performing offered, I would discover it was possible to obtain a different kind of gratification from interacting with students. As a teaching artist visiting lower income city schools, I immediately recognized how the educational environment hampered creative exploration. While I could draw out a student through a dance experience for a few weeks, they always had to return to the confines of the classroom. A short residency only stimulated the creative spirit; how could it be held with more reverence? I would receive the answer from an unlikely group of students.

Well into my teaching career armed with certificates in teacher training, body-mind integration, and the healing arts, I was offered the opportunity to teach dance to a community of disabled adults. The participants were labeled as having intellectual and developmental disabilities. From the beginning, I had to concede that I felt disabled in their presence. If I had hoped to receive a manual, “How to Teach Dance to Adults with Multiple Challenges Across a Spectrum of Skills and Ages at the Same Time,” I would have been delusional. Nothing prepared me for what I would encounter. In fact, much of what I had been taught about teaching dance, especially the class structure and lesson plans, was of little use in this environment.

My first class with my group of special needs adults could be classified as disastrous. Throughout the lesson, students wandered in and out as if the studio had a revolving door. Some participants arrived late (schedule conflicts). Others arrived in wheelchairs or with walkers. Still others left early — literally just walking out without saying anything or even acknowledging my presence. By the end of my first session with my perfectly designed lesson plan I had two students, a bruised ego, lots of questions, and a feeling of total ineptness, which became the salt for new learning, curiosity, and research.

To recover a sense of enthusiasm for my new venture, I had to be creative — I was drafting the manual — and spontaneity became the norm. The benchmarks for learning were joy, laughter, freedom, and play; the students’, not mine. Intangible as those traits were, they became the foundation of my classes and were meaningful to the adults I was serving. They could care less about my qualifications; what was important was that I cared. For many, in their younger experiences in a dance studio if they had any at all, they were told: “Stand over there”, “Be careful”, or “You can’t dance”. Wholeheartedly engaged in shifting that ingrained mindset was like turning around a barge single-handedly.

In our weekly ritual, I would turn on the music, open the door slightly, and assume a statue-like pose — a ploy to attract the students. They would peer through the partially opened door and wander in, try on various shapes as I changed positions, lean against a wall, or meander around the room watching, listening, and sometimes responding with their own percussive interpretations of the music. One day peering through my peripheral vision, I observed a fellow in a wheelchair doing an improvisation of syncopated gestures with his upper body, occasionally adding a head movement that generated a smile. It was a rhythm that was unique and so expressive from what I was offering and at the same time established an interpretation that was original and authentic for him. The whole class participated briefly in his joyful momentary demonstration. These experimental moments flowed into a collaboration of movement ideas, trust, and new relationships.

In my explorations with this population, I reflected on how many times differences are not appreciated, much less elevated, in society. In fact, my adult learners had the same aspirations as any of my younger students. They loved to dance. They valued movement and rhythm and the complementary alignment of music to body, mind, and spirit. They may not have expressed it as such, but they were seeking something I appreciated as a young dancer stepping across the threshold of the dance space: a magical world. When asked by a casual observer how I managed to teach in the chaos, I realized that I saw something different: shared play. In this studio setting, their play was spirit-filled and aligned with their own wills to learn, explore, and discover new things about themselves. I was held captive by my students’ range of creativity.

I did not come to these insights immediately. It was an arduous process of relearning and changing my personal teaching practices to accommodate a special community I felt honored to serve. The practices evolved into a pedagogy which was suitable and complementary to the population by placing them first, which was much different than their place in society. My experiential understanding led me to step into an improvisational, in-the-moment approach to teaching. This required an attitude of allowing, being present, and imagining all of us learning and growing together. For these adults, the studio became an enlivening and energetically infused environment that required noticing everything in general, as well as recognizing and honoring particular moments of creativity as they arose.

What began as a tense and super-charged task of perfection and rigid principles developed into an atmosphere of ease and freedom. The essence of the class came about through a release of structure, established forms, and content. Through this process, the body itself is informed by spirit and soul responding to sounds and inner rhythms which ignore limitations.

My newly claimed teaching practices with this particular group of adults was life enriching. The invitation to the students was simple: cross the threshold, connect to yourself, embody and ignite your inner fire. The extended value was in observing their confidence soar as they carried themselves differently, especially when moving outside the studio into the other activities the facility offered. After dance, the students conducted themselves with dignity and pride in a way heretofore had not been considered or expected.

Perhaps, as a dance instructor, what I was seeking then and now is a shift in consciousness captured in movement and expressed as an outer glow of joy from the bodies and faces of my students. And the beauty of this gift is something as modest as holding sacred space for them to explore their creativity within their boundaries and discover wholeness. How magical is that?!

Photo by Lisa Makana

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Diana Turner-Forte is a teaching artist, healing arts coach, and writer. Her work is dedicated to the people of which this essay is written. Additionally, she conducts Embodied Spirituality workshops for the greater community. Her other interests include knitting, science fiction, and writing poetry. Diana resides in North Carolina with her husband, Kenn, a gifted wood artisan, and four-legged creature, Pierre.

The post Crossing the Threshold as a Dancer and Teacher appeared first on Stance on Dance.

Happy 11^th birthday to Stance on Dance! When I started Stance on Dance in 2012, I had no idea I’d be continuing it more than a decade later, or that it would grow into its present iteration as a nonprofit and print publication. As Stance on Dance reaches its third print issue, I’m thrilled to have the opportunity to continue publishing the perspectives of myriad dance artists and sharing those perspectives with Stance on Dance’s donors as well as with students of dance around the country. I’m honored to be able 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.

The spring/summer 2023 print issue features movement artist breana’s poignant poem about their history in ballet and subsequent trauma; Liz Duran Boubion’s meditation on how her residency in the desert has influenced her thoughts on death; Julia Cost’s sumptuous paintings of people in motion; Micaela Gardner’s reflections on making Resuenen, an interpretive dance film that explores the US-Mexico border; Mary Elizabeth Lenahan’s story of former dancer Adelaide and her son, Preston, who is on the autism spectrum and dances with Dance Express; Shannon Leypoldt’s intriguing look at the link between artistic practice and the menstrual cycle; Kevin O’Connor’s ode to his “dancestor” Billy and his suggestions for scores to improvise with one’s ancestors; and longtime dance teacher Diana Turner-Forte’s account of her experience facilitating a group of students with intellectual disabilities. This issue also includes my interviews with Maggie Bridger, a choreographer and PhD candidate who explores the relationship between pain, dance, and disability; and Wonyoung Kim, a choreographer, dancer, and lawyer who views choreography as metaphorically similar to law. If you’d like to receive a copy, please consider donating to Stance on Dance. Otherwise, all the articles and interviews will eventually be published online and will be free and accessible to anyone interested.

A big component of Stance on Dance is to not only create a platform for dance writers but also to send free copies of Stance on Dance to colleges and other dance learning spaces with the hope that the next generation of dance artists will become excited by the possibilities of dance journalism. To date, Stance on Dance has sent free copies to 20 dance programs around the country. If you work with a college dance program or other dance learning space and are interested in receiving free copies of Stance on Dance, please reach out to me at emmaly@stanceondance.com. And if you’re reading this and thinking, “I have a stance on dance!” don’t hesitate to get in touch!

Cover by Julia Cost
“Betty Ann’s Hula” (2014)
Oil on canvas, 16” x 12”

The post Supporting and Spreading Dance Journalism 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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