In Admiration of the "Happy Food Dance"

Movement made for stage is an exaggeration of the dance we all do in life. Paradoxically, we often forget our life-dance in pursuit of an accomplished life on stage. In fact, it is easy to forget our life-dance whenever we are busy, concerned with the dance of society, with all its wonders and expectations, disconnected from the small moments, deeming them as monotonous, regrettably necessary. How ironic, when most of our lives are made up of these small moments that keep us alive, build relationships and families, move society forward one inch at a time. Thankfully, life has a way of surrendering times of respite and reflection. It is during these times of respite, when we can best reconnect with our authentic bodies and motions.

Since leaving my conservatory training, and branching out to do work that is from my own voice, much of my work has been grappling with the ability to depart with the techniques and aesthetic approaches to movement I have been taught to better get to the root of what I want to say and do with my work. I know I want to be sincere. I know I want to be spontaneous. And I know that I want to be able to trust my body to respond to the impulses it experiences with sensitivity. When I am in the studio, I am always reminded that this is a difficult task, given the years of groundwork I have undertaken to arrive at my life-long goal of becoming a professional dance artist. Physically, I have developed habits that have taken many years to work out of my body, and some have not completely left. Though recognizing them as taught rituals I find myself visiting familiar shapes that at one time, I worked to perfect, falling back on them comfortably when I loose my concentration during experimentation and creation. Mentally, I struggle with allowing these things to leave my body, for fear they may never make their way back in, if I found I needed them later. I fear that leaving these habits behind might somehow leave me out of the “dancer club.” In the studio, alone, I even wonder if the ghost who inhabits it thinks I’m “dancing,” or not. In addition to my fears of being disregarded by my colleagues and peers, I realize that there is a whole other level of habits that manifest themselves in my body. And in my mind, though beautiful and significant, create more layers for me to sift through to get to the root of my kinetic voice. Each culture has a set of movements ingrained in its people that have been patented over millennia. For example, how we say hello: we lift one hand, and wave it back and forth. In Japan, people traditionally bow. In Japan, women do not cross their legs. Most women in America do. Included in these culture-dances are the movements involved in creating ceremony, cuisine and everyday routine. Going deeper than that, I have the dance made up of all the cultures that I am a part of, and of the ancestors and family through whom they are passed down. As someone with a multi-cultural background and upbringing, my culture dance is dense, and as colorful as the range of skin tones in the faces of my forefathers and foremothers, rendering me beautiful copper. My culture dance is one of clapping to gospel music to mourn the passing of a family member, boiling collard greens, three generations of women all lying squished and folded in one bed to watch the daytime stories, boiling ham and cabbage or layering eggplant with cheese and sauce, making hot tea and scones in the afternoon, writing the beautiful language of Italian around Christmas time, placing the Madonna on our tree.

In response to this realization, I began to think about the kinds of movements that are unique to my body. My first dances! I am reminded of how every morning, since I can remember, the way I run water in the tub and move my fingers in response to the warm water as I test the temperature before my shower. I try this movement without the water, and my sister tells me it looks inappropriate and laughs. But I find it fascinating, and I smile. Why did I never take the time to notice the mechanics of this sensational movement before? The movement that is attached to feeling lovely warm water for cleaning oneself. I am reminded of the way I habitually run my fingers through my hair when I’m tired, a gesture that repeats itself again and again and again until I find my way comfortably into bed. Then, I am reminded as I eat bok choy and carrots, that since I have been alive, when I enjoy food, I wiggle. It is how my mother can tell if I like her cooking, or not. In our house, the dance has been forever dubbed, “The Happy Food Dance.” And to this day, when I am not in the company of others, or rather, only in the company of my family, I wiggle away when I eat food I love. Somewhere along the path of growing up, it was explained to me that one should not wiggle too much in public or at restaurants. My realization that I have spent as much time training habits into my body as I have spent training habits out of my body perplexes me. Why should we give up our life-dances in exchange for culture-dances, and other acceptable forms of movement? The last time I was at my favorite restaurant in NYC during restaurant week, I so wanted to wiggle! Especially in response to the chocolate cake! These are the movements that are derived from my root vocabulary. These movements are whole: they have a kinetic sensation, an emotional engagement, and a mechanical arrangement in my body.

So, I take these, and a few other movements into the studio. They feel dynamic in my body, but they sadly (though not surprisingly) don’t look very dynamic in the mirror. The mirror reflects back to me my personal experience as well as a two-dimensional surface can: small, intimate, and unique to my person. I wonder how one would share such little dances? One patron at a time, standing close enough to see each nuance and variation as I softly wiggle with almost imperceptible delight across my face? I should invite them to dinner.

While my work-brain desires a place for these movements in my creative activities and professional endeavors, my rest-brain realizes that it is only important that I identify and own them now in the time of reflection. Celebrate them and engage with them. Remember and reminisce with my body and its dances. As life has a way of becoming harried and full of activity in an instant, this visit with myself may not happen again for a long while. Being present, and visiting with undivided attention means I can remind myself even when I am being most exaggerated, that my life-dance is ever present.