Inspired vs. Discouraged

This weekend I went to the Pole Sport Organization national championships in Vegas to shoot the performances as one half of Alloy Images. Over two days, I watched every minute as nearly 100 dancers presented their pieces onstage - and I have a confession. I came away inspired, but a little discouraged too. Watching competitions can be such an emotional roller coaster.

When does a dance become just a gymnastics showcase? When does inspiration become discouragement? I can't pinpoint the moment. But at some point in the day, I turned off the camera after one piece and I let out a big sigh. I'm never going to be that good, I thought. I don't care about fonjis. I can't do those insane power moves. Why am I even dancing? Why do I bother performing? What's the point? I don't even compare to that girl.

I know that I'm not alone. After every competition, big or small, someone posts a video on facebook of an uber-intense power pole routine with a caption that's a variation of "what am I doing with my life? why do I even try?"

Well, after feeling sorry for myself for a good 30 seconds I remembered why I try. This weekend I also saw some visceral, brave, soul-shaking pieces that didn't have anything to do with power pole. Don't get me wrong, a great iron X can make me cheer, but it doesn't necessarily SAY anything to me. The performances that stuck with me this weekend were deeper. They required a kind of rawness, something I've written about many times on this blog. Crystal Belcher performed to "Strange Fruit," and left the audience in shocked silence, absolutely torn open with her hauntingly beautiful piece about the lynching of African Americans - before they burst into wild applause. Danielle Romano honored a relative with her heart-wrenching performance about going slowly out of your mind through torture and captivity. These dancers were the definition of epic - in the literary sense.
They didn't just tell us a simple story. Their characters had nuance and depth. They clawed their way to triumph, felt the torture of heartbreak or came crashing to earth in despair. These were not pole ROUTINES. They were STORIES. They were artwork in motion.

And that's what yanked me out of feeling like I don't belong in this world. So maybe I'm not going to win any competitions unless I learn to fonji. But the bottom line is - I'm the only one who can tell my stories. I just have to reach deep enough, give enough of myself to the audience that they feel what I feel. And anyone can do that. I saw little glimpses of it even in the Level 1 performances - women who are just learning basic spins and still struggle with their bodies - nevertheless, they gave me moments of delight. It's not about being "good." It's about what you have to say.

There were too many dancers this weekend who opened themselves up onstage, didn't place or forgot a trick and ended up crying in the wings. It just kills me when I see that happen, because I have walked offstage feeling like a failure too. Although - it's always from trying to be impressive, comparing myself to other dancers, and feeling like I come up short.

Of course in a competition, it feels like it's all about that comparison - but in my experience, the pieces that felt as if they were crawling out of me were what impressed the audience, not the routines I put together because I was TRYING to be impressive. It takes time, and it's so hard, but it's worth it. As an artist you will always be hungry and you will never be satisfied. But when you can give voice to a story that comes from your soul, it's as close as you will ever get. Find those stories. Pay attention to them. Your inner artist is saying something important. Listen.

I leave you with this quote from Martha Graham, that hangs on the wall in my home studio. It keeps me sane, on those long nights when I am choreographing all alone and feeling frustrated.

There is a vitality, a life force, a quickening that is translated through you into action, and there is only one of you in all time, this expression is unique, and if you block it, it will never exist through any other medium; and be lost. The world will not have it. It is not your business to determine how good it is, not how it compares with other expression. It is your business to keep it yours clearly and directly, to keep the channel open. You do not even have to believe in yourself or your work. You have to keep open and aware directly to the urges that motivate you. Keep the channel open. No artist is pleased. There is no satisfaction whatever at any time. There is only a queer, divine dissatisfaction, a blessed unrest that keeps us marching and makes us more alive than the others. 

Martha Graham

Dance deeper.

From left, Dru Bramlett, Anna Grundstrom, Danielle Romano, Tracee Kafer. So much amazing.

I keep coming back to these words, dance deeper. I taught a freedance workshop in June, and I was going to teach another in July but the time slot I could teach didn't work out for anyone, which was a real bummer - but anyway. Late in June, I was putting together the flier for July and trying to come up with a phrase that would really stand alone as the core of what I was trying to coax out of my students. Something that would emphasize the kind of dancer I was trying to help them become. And it sort of suddenly fell in my lap. Dance deeper.

Bringing sexy back.

Sexy. It's easy to breeze right past the word, and the whole idea, when we see half-naked women plastered on every empty space, physical and digital, every day. It's too simple to think that there's no value to emphasizing the sexy in pole dancing - after all, hasn't it made us too easily mocked already? We're dismissed as strippers, sluts, whores, desperate for attention.

But deep into the first week, on the second year of UPA's Bringing Sexy Back, I've been thinking about why sexy is important in pole. Why it feels so satisfying to watch a class of Level 1 students, wide-eyed, laughing nervously with each other as they discover body rolls for the first time. What is it about that breathless, heart-thumping high I get from a no-holds-barred freedance in heels that makes me feel not just sexier, but more alive?

Now.

How It Ends

Poetry and dance are, for me, the most raw, intimate and intense kinds of creative expression. The kind that can rumble up from the earth and shake the foundation of your soul. Finally, I was able to breathe out this idea that I've been dreaming of for ages, and it's something completely different, and it felt wonderful. Poem by Andrea Gibson - "How it Ends."

Fear.

I do something terrifying at least once a week, sometimes two or three times.
Do you?

If you're a pole dancer like I am, which doesn't mean an aerialist or a crazy Chinese pole trickster or a national champ or an instructor or the class daredevil - just... a dancer... you probably do something that scares you too.

Pole pushes me, in directions I never pushed myself before.
Day One scared me. My very first class was absolutely earth-shattering. "Move your hands along your body," my instructor said. "Lift your hips and take them in a big circle." I didn't do that kind of sexy shit even in the bedroom, let alone a class with a dozen other women. I didn't know how to move my hips. I didn't own lingerie. I didn't wear lipstick. I didn't wear crazy stripper heels. I was terrified. What if I looked like an idiot? What if I wasn't sexy? What if I flat out couldn't make my body do that?
Six months in I was still freaking out. I still didn't feel as sexy as my classmates looked, but I could fake it well enough to shut up my inner pessimist, at least during class. But some of those spins felt like I would fly right off the pole. I still felt uneasy inverting and I couldn't complete a butterfly without butterflies in my stomach. The floor always seemed too far away.
At a year, I caught myself eyeing the ground in aerial transitions, worrying if the next thing I might see would be stars. My skin never felt sticky enough. "Can you spot me?" I asked classmates and instructors anytime I tried something new. "Where's the crash mat?" More than once I told an instructor flat-out NO. I was sure half of what they tried to teach me was physically impossible.

Two and a half years later, I scare myself as often I can. Now that feeling is an old friend. I remember that fear tells me I'm doing something on the edge of my emotional, mental or physical abilities. It's time to really pay attention. I'm about to master something new. I can almost always count on fear to be followed by triumph. And even when it's followed by failure, a new bruise or even tears, I can be sure that I just learned something. Even if it's just to try again.
Recently I had a discussion with a fellow instructor in one of her classes, as we watched her students work through an entirely new combo. "We scare ourselves all the time," she said, looking around. "Who else does this?"

Sure, there are tons of jobs and hobbies that bring out the thrill-seekers, but a lot of us at the pole studio are 9-to-5-ers, "regular people." We're students, parents, retail employees, consultants, artists, business owners. For a lot of us, fear outside of pole is a negative influence. We're afraid of losing our jobs, afraid we can't pay the bills, afraid our kids won't get into the right school, afraid of crashing the car or not getting that client. Outside the studio, fear weighs us down.

Pole is the best kind of terrifying.
We're afraid to push ourselves to be emotionally open with other people, especially other women. But the pole studio is a safe place full of friends, who will forgive you for coming in a little bit bitchy, because they need a good slow stretch to de-stress too. They will pull your shirt back over your nipple when it pops out without judging you or freaking out. They'll laugh with you about hairstyles gone wrong and cellulite and bikini waxes. We are a community.
We're afraid our bodies won't hold up when we ask them for a little more than usual. But there's always an instructor or even a friend willing to spot you. There's always someone with the same bruise, someone who can tell you how they overcame the excruciating pain of that new move. We deal with pain every single class! How much of your life have you spent being afraid of pain? That military saying, "pain is weakness leaving your body" - polers can certainly share a laugh about the truth in that! Pain is getting used to a new grip in a strange (and sensitive!) place. We laugh... and we move on.
We're afraid of falling off the pole. Here's a fear that never goes away. From day one going forward, there's never a class I'm not afraid of falling on my face. But as I advanced, I was better at using the pole. I was more comfortable with it as a dance partner. I know where and how to grip. Now when I'm afraid of falling, I take stock of my situation. Are my hands sweating too much? Do I need to ask for a spot? Can I really hold myself up in this position? Should I try this another time when my body is less exhausted?
Fear tells me to stop and check myself. If everything is in order, I know that I'm simply afraid of failure. And damn it, that won't stop me anymore.

Miracles!

Miracles! Look! They happen! Here is 2011 goal, accomplished. On to 2012, bitches!

 

This year in pole.

Amazing things that have happened this year because of pole:

A friend recently commented with surprise on my "huge and muscular" thighs, and instead of smacking him I smiled wide and said, "Why, thank you!" Because these legs. Do. Work. I finally like my little squat legs, because of what they can do and the way dance has reshaped them. Miraculous.

I taught my first class at The Vertitude! What a fulfilling and challenging experience teaching has been so far. I learned the importance of breaking down a move with clear instructions, good spotting and being the confidant for many students.

My students made me cry at their first recital. It is a dream come true to see the bravery and dedication pay off for them as they each beamed and took a bow, the crowd applauding wildly.

To my surprise, many of my pole idols have become friends! I've found a new appreciation for their hard work and professionalism. The difference between a pole dancer and a pole diva has come into sharp focus. Dancers do it because they truly love what they do. Dancers are authentic, passionate, caring, committed people. I'm lucky to call them friends.

I've become a performer! Terrifying and exhilarating. I pushed past the fear. I found fun hiding back there!

I've been humbled by many instructors. I've learned that the basics are always worth going over again. I've learned to take it slow, rest my body and mind so that I can dance fresh, with honesty.

I've told my own story to dozens of students. Always reminding them that I started where they did, awkward and uncertain and scared.

The best part of this year has been those high-fives, the cheers and happy dances when another student breaks through a barrier and does what she thought was impossible.

Inspiring words

Some poetry for inspiration this week. This has been floating around the pole community for a while through social networking, and it resurfaces every once in a while. I just can't get enough of this poem. 

Jewel Mathieson - We Have Come

We have come to be danced
not the pretty dance
not the pretty pretty, pick me, pick me dance
but the claw our way back into the belly
of the sacred, sensual animal dance
the unhinged, unplugged, cat is out of its box dance
the holding the precious moment in the palms
of our hands and feet dance

We have come to be danced
not the jiffy booby, shake your booty for him dance
but the wring the sadness from our skin dance
the blow the chip off our shoulder dance
the slap the apology from our posture dance

We have come to be danced
not the monkey see, monkey do dance
one, two dance like you
one two three, dance like me dance
but the grave robber, tomb stalker
tearing scabs & scars open dance
the rub the rhythm raw against our souls dance

WE have come to be danced
not the nice invisible, self conscious shuffle
but the matted hair flying, voodoo mama
shaman shakin’ ancient bones dance
the strip us from our casings, return our wings
sharpen our claws & tongues dance
the shed dead cells and slip into
the luminous skin of love dance

We have come to be danced
not the hold our breath and wallow in the shallow end of the floor dance
but the meeting of the trinity: the body, breath & beat dance
the shout hallelujah from the top of our thighs dance
the mother may I?
yes you may take 10 giant leaps dance
the Olly Olly Oxen Free Free Free dance
the everyone can come to our heaven dance

We have come to be danced
where the kingdom’s collide
in the cathedral of flesh
to burn back into the light
to unravel, to play, to fly, to pray
to root in skin sanctuary
We have come to be danced
WE HAVE COME

Honesty.

Learning to dance has forced me to be honest with my body. It's impossible to think how ugly your arms are when they effortlessly lift you into the air. It's impossible to think about how awful your legs are when they unfold into the air and trace delicious circles against the sky. It's difficult to hate your own skin when you're flying only because of friction.

The pole makes the best partner when you give it everything, collapsing against it as the music fades out. I suppose most dance is the same way, but the pole in particular is a partner who always asks for more, yet is forgiving when you find your limit.

I love finding the individual muscle fibers that are holding me back. I love pinpointing the exact place to push back against the pole. I love learning about the details of my own body. Before pole, I knew about my physical being in a general sense, like a city that I had traveled through many times but never really paused to explore. Now I know the twisting lanes of my veins, the canyon curves of my hips, the roughness at the city limits and the pulse of the nightlife. It's an intimacy and a comfort in my own skin that I didn't think was possible. Of course, I still have big plans, feel like I have places to grow and changes to make. But I feel at home here.

Sexy.

Right, I know, I know. Pole dancing isn't stripping. As a community we have spent so much time, especially in the past three years, trying to distance what we do with a pole from what strippers do. I think Natasha Wang winning the USPDF championship is a marker of how much progress we have made, and where we are headed. She is an artist. Jenyne, our first champion, amazed us with her acrobatics and strength. Alethea reminded us that it's okay to be sexy and fluid. That sensual floorwork still has a place. Now Natasha will will bring pole into the art world, elevate it to the level of ballet and modern dance. But I feel like we might be sterilizing pole a little too much as we introduce classes for kids and push for inclusion in the Olympics.

Pole dance is still sexy for me. It's impossible to separate the art from the dance and the dance from the sensuality of the female form twisting and swirling around the pole. Dancers like Alethea still make an important point. Pole, like salsa, like tango, is passionate. It doesn't have to be about platforms and tiny bikinis either, or hair tosses and shimmying.

A good pole dance is like a good drive on a beautiful road. Stay with me here - I'll explain.
In the moment, everything should be a blur, your pulse quickened, feeling the roar of the engine or your own breath in your lungs. It is a fluid, strong dance with your metallic partner, be it pole or chassis. Feeling the pleasure of a perfect, seamless transition like a seamless downshift. The g forces are the same sweet tingle, carving circles around the corner or around the pole. Controlled, collected, deliberate movements. On the good days, it feels like flying.



Sexy is control. Sexy is skill and passion and power and sensuality. Sexy doesn't need to be flashy. It can be beautiful bare feet, an arched back and a slow smile. Pole dancers need not be strippers to be sexy, but conversely, need not be asexual fitness-focused acrobats to gain an audience's respect. Some dancers are arguing we need to "bring the sexy back" to pole. I think we just need to slow down and feel the passion in our own movements.

Pole sisters!

One of my favorite things about pole is that it's easy to start - both physically and mentally. This year I've had the opportunity to introduce three friends so far to pole - and two more might be coming to classes soon. Last year I brought two friends to classes. One even brought one of her friends.
I really did get lucky in choosing a studio. One of the best things about dancing at a place like Poleates is the non-competitive atmosphere. Every friend I've invited to classes has told me how wonderful the other girls and instructors are. I think other studios can end up being gossipy, competitive places where beginners don't feel comfortable. I considered other places before calling Poleates; the positive reviews online and local news articles won me over.
I remember my intro class - Michaela, the instructor, was so patient and was careful to remind us that she was awkward at first too. She laughed with us when we clung to the pole and nursed our bruises, and helped puzzle out the problems. No pressure to get it right away, just encouragement and straightforward, supportive correction. I felt at home immediately. I sure didn't feel sexy, but it was fun and I felt like the moves were within reach.
When I started going to regular classes, the other students were just as helpful. It's a real sisterhood, a community of students. The mixed classes mean that more advanced students can help beginners, and give them something to look forward to. Beginners can ask questions. I studied the advanced students, picked apart their moves, asked dozens of questions when I first started. There were days when I felt all elbows and knees, awkward and frustrated, for sure - but the other students were so welcoming. It becomes a sisterhood. We can be vulnerable and try new things together.
I hope my friends feel as welcome as I did as a new student. With pole becoming more elite every day, it worries me that the beginners could feel left out. It's so important to me that this amazing art form stays accessible.