Playing till the work emerges . . . . dedicated to the process

They say, “Wait, you’re a dancer?” “Yup,” I reply.   When faced with the revelation of my chosen art, the men of the masculine military institution that I call college usually reply with at "That's cute," and some other jibe at my percieved sexuality. At this point I usually laugh and remind myself how many gorgeous women I’ve held in my arms, replying with a smile, “Yea man, you’ve got me figured out.”

I am a cadet. I thrive when challenged, and I stand up straight and scream at the top of my lungs. I shine my shoes and always reply with a “yes sir" or "no ma’am.” I can run, compete, and prove myself. I am a leader. I love discipline and hierarchy. I am a dancer.

The passions that tug at my soul seem to venture off into opposing directions, splitting me in two. How can I thrive both on the free expression of dance and the structure of uniforms, regulations, and expectations of a military environment?  

For me, dance goes beyond your stereotypical ballerina or your dramatic pop artist. It goes beyond stardom and form, beyond style. It is the expression of an intangible connection between me, my partner, and what the music asks me to do with our momentum. In those moments of completely relaxed attention I am more myself than when I am thinking. That empty-headedness, where not a single iota of energy is given to a single conscious thought, is the peace in me that “surpasses all understanding.” It is my escape. Beyond that, it is what I’ve always wanted to say but could never articulate through any written language.

I am inexplicably bound to a culture of Jazz and Swing music whose era is long gone but whose contemporary home is the second floor of the Mercury Café.  In that dingy, dimly lit, janky, new age, restaurant/club/temple I learned to move my feet and my body in a way that not only surprised the hell out of me, but gave life to a personal education in self-expression. Sandwiched between subtle twists of fabric wrapped in white Christmas lights and a perfectly warped wooden floor, I learned a new type of language and a new message; a new message that now lives through my feet which slip, slide, and pound out the rhythm of long-practiced patterns.

It is the same rhythm I share with a hundred other couples, giving a form to a feeling which is formless. We are the embodiment of the message of a kind of music which in its heyday was defiant and revolutionary. In essence, we strive for a self-expression in a world that, like my college, gives us formulas, rules, and little else. Using patterns and rhythms derived from the music itself, we ultimately strive for a freedom from all forms and formulas. In this sense, dance is an art form. It requires that the individual consciously learn, practice, and rehearse techniques and patterns. Yet, in the throes of creativity, form and technique are pushed into the subconscious, leaving pure expression.

The Mercury Café is over fifteen hundred miles from me now, but the lessons are as close to me as the sinews of my muscles. I am a cadet. The qualities of discipline and other characteristics generally attributed to being a “cadet” seem to oppose the “dancer” in me. Yet, the military routine is itself a kind of dance- a nuanced experience of mind, body, and spirit. My task has become an artistic one; to find a discipline of practice, balance, and expression within the confines of life in barracks. I am a cadet and a dancer. I believe in that conjunction.

Even Rogers - "This I Believe"

Dance Education and Community Outreach Intern

2007-2008

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