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

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?

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.

Audition stress

Stress twists my creative process. When I have too much to do I can't concentrate and I lose the ability to focus on my dance. With deadlines to meet, pole can feel like just more work, especially when I have to put together routines and end up practicing on my own, with no one to give me input or just make me laugh. My body hurts and I get lonely.
Today I told myself that I would carve out some time just for me, to buckle down and work through this routine. It's extra-stressful because it is a dual-role performance. In the morning I will be auditioning for a monthly pole showcase, hoping to join a well-known and prestigious cast. In the evening I will be performing with my students and fellow instructors for our Valentine's Day party.
This is my first audition and I'm a little freaked out. Normally, I use the first pass of a routine to put in all the moves I'm not super solid with yet - a result of my sweaty hands. I don't want to slip off the pole trying a precarious move at the end of a routine, so I put it in the beginning when I'm confident, still full of energy and hands prepared with Tite Grip, to minimize the danger. But I need this routine to be very dramatic at the beginning and tell the whole story right up front. I only have two minutes for the audition. Two minutes is almost nothing on spinning pole.
Hence my long, cold day at the studio alone. But I'm trying to stay inspired. I've been watching massive amounts of contemporary dance videos on youtube, looking for good lines, interesting ways to move onto and off the floor. I want to push myself a little bit with this performance, not with strength or fancy aerial tricks but with the dance itself.
I performed this routine before for a very small event. It was what I think of now as a rough sketch. It felt finished when I performed it, but now I don't feel that it is rich enough. Needs more drama, more character.
In the end, my lonely day at the studio was pretty productive. I pushed through a half hour of deep stretching. Never skip stretching. On the days I feel the least inspired, the most exhausted, I make my stretches deeper and longer. It works, at the end I'm loose and warm and feeling a bit better.
I pulled out my laptop and used Natasha Wang's awesome trick - Photobooth! It's nice to use my phone for the HD, but really, when I'm working through the awkwardness of a routine in the early stages, all I need is to film 10-second clips at a time to review and adjust the moves. Thank you, webcam and Photobooth for making that simple.
I tried all kinds of craziness today. For three hours I slipped and grunted, I used about half a bottle of Tite Grip, I'm brusied and battered but I have a routine fleshed out. So I will reward myself with the usual treat, ice cream. After an intense poling session I always finish with ice cream. I work hard, dammit. I deserve something delicious.

Open yourself up.

This is a good a place to fall as any / we'll build our altar here. Make me your Maria / I'm already on my knees. You had Jesus on your breath / and I caught Him in mine. Sweating our confessions / The undone and the divine. 

"Connect with your music"- what dancer hasn't heard that. A cliche, yes, but good advice nonetheless. When I heard the song "Bedroom Hymns" by Florence and the Machine, memories of my falling out with Christianity and its tangle in my personal life with sexuality came flooding back. The lyrics give a sacrilegious twist to the usual story about passion and love, and that brings up very intense memories for me.

I'm an atheist now, or maybe an agnostic. I could spend an entire post discussing my current views on spirituality, but it's a vague sort of rocks-and-trees type thing. Shinto without the shrines? I'm still working it out, honestly. 

Regardless, I grew up Christian. I was very involved with youth groups, leading worship on Sundays, and small groups. Not because I had some deeply held belief in Presbyterian Christianity, Jesus or religion at all, but because I found friends there. I felt a connection and mutual respect with the adults in that system. My parents were very strict about which friends I made and where I went, but church events were one of the few times they gave me some freedom.

In high school, I had brief but intense relationships with a few of the boys in the youth group. It was such a small group, formed of people who theoretically shared a faith but not much else in common. Obviously we all felt some tension and struggled to be the Christian "brothers and sisters" that our religion called us to be. 

One of my relationships with a member of the youth group became physical and subsequently that person betrayed my trust, shared my personal secrets with the other people in the group, and I felt cast out as a "slut". Hurt, I tried to form emotional bonds through liaisons with new boyfriends, which only made things worse. The friends I reached out to, whom Christianity had told me were upstanding, honest, compassionate people turned against me and I felt betrayed by my closest friends, my spiritual "brothers and sisters". The boys' small group made t-shirts around that time that said "Got Integrity?" on the backs. I couldn't make sense of the hypocrisy and lack of empathy. My religious beliefs started to crumble. 

That was the seed for this performance, a deep wound that opened over a decade ago. I'm still working out my own spirituality and my sexuality has obviously taken a circuitous path since that time. Now I am an open (and happy) bisexual, sex-positive and proud kink. Religion and sex share a strong emotional link in my past, so when I heard Bedroom Hymns, I knew I had to dance to it. At first I thought it would only be a freedance, but I felt such a strong connection to the music that I realized it would be an incredible performance piece. 

I'm no experienced performer, so obviously I couldn't lose myself in the music completely. I still worried about making the tricks dramatic, looking good, hitting the right beats, but that personal link did indeed help me forget about the audience a bit, work through those memories and just dance for me. 

This is a good a place to fall as any / we'll build our altar here. Make me your Maria / I'm already on my knees. You had Jesus on your breath / and I caught Him in mine. Sweating our confessions / The undone and the divine. 

This is his body, this is his love / Such selfish prayers and I can't get enough, oh / I can't get enough

Spilt bitter tears, I did this for you / Spilling over the aisle, the black and the blue 

The sweetest submission, drinking you in / The wine and the women and the bedroom hymns 

This is his body, this is his love / Such selfish prayers and I can't get enough, oh / I can't get enough

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.

Newness.

Tuesday night I taught my first class as a pole instructor. In week leading up to that evening, a few friends asked if I was nervous. Not really, I answered. I've done this before. And it was true - I've taught friends new tricks, I've walked them through stretches, I've spotted people, I've helped teach before.

But I was nervous, and not for me. I knew there would be brand new dancers in my class. Girls who have spent fewer than five hours spinning and stretching, who haven't yet settled into the fond partnership that the experienced student has with the pole. I was afraid I wouldn't be able to usher them through those crucial first classes properly. Maybe I would make a mistake and somehow embarrass them, or my clumsy new-teacher methods wouldn't enable them to put their limbs in the right place. Maybe they would be self-conscious and I wouldn't be able to draw them out of that shell. Maybe there wouldn't be any laughter in my class.

 At seven, I turned up the first song on my excruciatingly chosen playlist, settled into a cross-legged position in the front of the room, and announced I was starting the class.

Working through the warm-up stretches has always been a meditation for me. In class or at home, I've always made stretching a time to focus on my body and what it is capable of, to push myself and concentrate on taking one breath at a time. A few minutes to ensure that I am fully engaged. I found that pushing into the first few stretches on Tuesday night, as an instructor, it wasn't any different. I was still making it a meditation, but this time I wanted to be fully engaged with my students. Rather than listening to my own body and focusing on each muscle, I wanted to listen to my students' expressions, their bodies. Focus on each student.

We finished stretching, rolled up our mats and put them away, and I thought about what moves to teach first, what explanation would be simple and clear. I'm not used to having to think so far ahead in teaching simple movements. These girls had no reference points - I couldn't just tell them the trick they would be learning was a modified pirouette. For an intermediate or experienced student, they would immediately run through the basic move in their head and be ready to make changes. For a beginner, the same words draw a blank. On top of that, they have no muscle memory, and most of all no idea what they are capable of. Fear is still a big factor. Fear of falling, of failure, of rejection.

 As they struggled through their first attempts, I watched each of their faces, achingly aware of their frustration. I tried to explain it differently. I tried to work with each student on their own problem area. Show me, I said. Show me how you're trying to do this. Wait - that's where you're getting twisted up. Let's try to smooth it out. Like this, see? Hands here, feet here.

 Teaching my first class turned out to be more of a learning experience for me, as cliche as that sounds. There were moments of triumph, sure. Some applause and lots of laughter. However, some of the students walked out never having achieved what I was trying to teach them. Some weren't strong enough, and some were too afraid to really try. I had to be okay with that, enough to move on to the next student - but not so much that I gave up on them. I had to modify the moves for more than one person.

I didn't feel satisfied at the end of class. I wanted to call them all back in and show them over and over again until every single one reached the goal and left smiling and sore. I'm not sure that's a bad thing, though. I want to stay hungry as an instructor and always be eager to push them a little farther than they can reach on their own.

I'm already looking forward to next Tuesday.

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.

Bucket list.

Personal challenge. Make a bucket list. A friend of mine recently posted something on twitter with the hashtag #bucketlist. It started me thinking about my own bucket list. A list of things you want to accomplish, not necessarily with a time limit attached, just a list of personal goals. I never made a formal one, but I have had a mental list rolling around in my head. At one point it included tricks like twisted grip, handspring, shoulder mount cartwheel, allegra... And now I've accomplished those goals. Now a deadlift into twisted grip is right at the top of the bucket. But I'm going to start writing them down now, if only so I can see my progress in real, concrete terms. The nice thing about a bucket list is that it keeps you focused, striving for the next level, but without pressure. You can skip things, postpone them, shuffle the list. I'll get that deadlift. It might take me another six months, maybe another year. But it's in my #bucketlist.

Challenges.

Every pole student has had the experience of coming to a class with a teacher whose style of teaching seems incompatible with their learning style. You end up frustrated, annoyed with your own inability to adapt and their insistence that you change your dancing to match their own. It's happened to me countless times. Sometimes it's easy enough to fix- attend a different class, find another teacher or hide in the back and let the instructor focus on other students. But in the past two years, two of my favorite instructors have left the studio or stopped dancing altogether. Other teachers have classes that don't match my schedule. Sometimes you're stuck.

Fortunately, this situation can be a really good time to learn your own weaknesses and get to know your instructor. In the end, you're paying for the class and their job is to adapt their teaching to every student. A good instructor will welcome feedback and even take a little pushback. Don't be afraid to speak up. Ask questions. Ask them to break the move down into steps, do it slower or try a new move altogether. Ask them to help you work on a move you already know well. Tell them if they are making you uncomfortable, physically or mentally. Especially if you're in pain! If the problem is simply that the instructor wants you to move in a style that isn't your own, or perform a move that you don't feel is appropriate to your level, let them know! Don't be disrespectful, but definitely don't be intimidated. Every good teacher wants their student to succeed. Every move can be adapted, and the instructor should be able to give you options. Even super beginners can do it. If the firefly/fireman spin/whatever isn't working for you but it's all you know, ask them if there is another similar move or a modification you can try.
Beyond communicating with the instructor, don't forget that learning to dance in a different style can improve your own style. Try doing it their way once- remember that you don't have to do it exactly like that next time. Learn it their way, take it home and make it your own.
I always struggle when learning from teachers whose style is very sexy and exotic. For me, pole is powerful and graceful. Yes, it's sexy, but the sensuality comes from the control and fluidity, not from heel drags, hair tosses or butt jiggling. Just not my style! However, more than once I've pushed myself to try the sexier style and for sure, I felt awkward and a bit frustrated in the moment, but in the end I came away with a move or two I could add to my own style. Even if it's as simple as the way the instructor tucks their head or where they place their leg or a pretty transition. I'm always looking for details that I can use.
Last thing. I get questions from a lot of my beginner friends who feel held back. I only know three moves, they say. The instructors say I'm not ready to move on but I'm frustrated! I want to do something else, not the same moves over and over. I totally understand the sentiment, especially when you feel that you're capable of doing more. But remember, you're learning to fly. It means not just learning the basics but mastering them. I love going to beginner classes because I can perfect the simple stuff. I can make those moves so impressive, so fluid, so gorgeous that when I put together a routine that includes less familiar moves, the audience might be so wowed by the basic moves that they will forgive my shakiness in the more difficult tricks. I'm building in breathing room. I'm forming combinations of simple moves that will become pretty transitions later. The dance is in the details.
The point is, don't let yourself get frustrated. Speak up, and challenge yourself!

Off days.

Some days are just off days. Everything seems impossible. My helicopters are weak. Climbing is a struggle. Even simple spins feel awkward. It's easy to just shrug and throw in the towel (or shoes, as the case may be), but I've come to realize that i'm just being lazy and taking the easy way out.
I heard a writer on NPR not too long ago say that even when he can't think of the next word, let alone the next sentence, he forces himself to sit down and just get something on the paper, even if it's not any good. The process and routine is important.
Now, as an aerialist it can be dangerous to push yourself too much. These are the times when injuries happen, and you can end up busted, looking back on the moment and wondering what you were thinking. But I refuse to let that be an excuse to just sigh and walk away. Even if I don't feel up to the more acrobatic moves, I'm still going to practice. Off days are perfect to work on transitions, flow, floor work, making each movement a statement. I don't want to have any loose limbs- every move needs to be purposeful and pretty.
So I spent this morning trying to perfect my transitions. I still feel weak and wish I could do more, but I came away with some improvements.

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.

Sometimes the pole gods are against you...

We had a workshop with Jenyne Butterfly yesterday. I took the advanced workshop, with the instructors and other students in the competition program. Jenyne was wonderful, I learned several new tricks - but as with learning anything slightly above your level, I'm struggling with the moves and feeling uncoordinated, inflexible and ugly on the pole.

But I have new bruises, which always seems like a good sign. It means I'm pushing myself. At the workshop, I explained to Jenyne that I'm working on opening up my moves. I need to be more flexible and really stretch into each trick. She said, "Every move should be hard. There shouldn't be any moves where you're just hanging out. Everything should be difficult. You should be pushing yourself all the time."

I'm trying to keep that in mind and think through each new trick. I don't want to just try it ten times and have each try be as bad as the last.

Right now I'm working on the allegra, from the apprentice (corkscrew with top leg extended to the ceiling). The top knee gets threaded through the space between the top arm and the body, to hold you to the pole while you move the bottom hand behind the bottom knee. The pole is against your bottom hip and stomach, between your calves and thighs. Then the top hand releases, bottom leg straightens and you end up holding the pole by the inner thigh on the top leg and your grip on the pole behind that knee.



It's a simple move but I think there's a trick to not getting pole burn on your thigh, one that I haven't quite mastered yet.

I'm trying to keep Jenyne's advice in mind. Work hard, be smart, think it through. And pray to the pole gods for mercy.

The benefits of ballet!

I work for a local weekly newspaper as a staff photographer, so I get to photograph something new every day. Today it was the grand opening of a dance studio in their new location. I shot the ribbon cutting, some lunch activity, and stayed to shoot an intermediate (but open to all levels) ballet class.

Since the class was all "intermediate" students and ages mixed together - as with pole, intermediate means very different things depending on which studio or classes you go to - the instructor gave them very basic advice about engaging the proper muscles, foot placement, posture, etc. It was such an incredible learning experience for me!

I don't come from a dance background, unless you count jazz/tap classes when I was 5 years old. I took some gymnastics, from about 5 or 6 years old through 5th grade. Beyond that I don't have many skills I can apply to pole. I'm really learning it all right now!

So I listened closely as this instructor (who was awesome, by the way, Italian with a mohawk and just gorgeous) explained how to engage the core, draw in the ribcage, tuck the hips, breathe into the shoulders, lift the chin... just basic ballet technique. I learned so much in a one-hour class that I can apply to my own dancing!

Sometimes I feel like pole should be a more structured dance. Perhaps more focus on posture and mechanics, as in ballet, would help students improve. I do love the looseness of pole. I love the sensuality and creativity. The focus on individual expression. But when I work with instructors who have a ballet background I learn to perfect the moves in a whole new way.

For example, split grip. I used to grip like so:



And one of our instructors, Faith, explained to me that simply pointing my index finger down toward the floor whenever I use split grip will, for one, center any move and help stabilize me, and for two, stop the soreness in my inner forearm afterward. One little change made all the difference!

At least for me, I have a tendency to get sloppy. I don't extend far enough or open wide enough. My descending angels (scorpios) don't dazzle like Felix's moves. And when I compare, often it's just a matter of keeping my shoulders down and back. Extending the leg with locked joints. Arching deeply. Things I'm sure she learned from her years in dance. Simple changes!

So today, I really enjoyed watching this dancer teach. Her focused, straightforward, passionate instruction gave me some basic techniques to apply to my own dance. It made me consider sitting in on other types of dance classes too!

Here's Faith, one of our instructors, at a performance. She has an extensive dance background, so I always go to her for technical questions. I love the precision and control in her moves. She isn't as fluid on the pole as some of our other instructors, but her dancing is technically spectacular and each move is very defined. I'm hoping I can learn that kind of control!

Introductions and such.

So it has been almost exactly one year since I walked into the Poleates studio in Westlake Village, thinking I would take one class, maybe for a few weeks, learn some sexy moves, and nothing more. And then pole dancing took over my life.

It wasn't quite that fast, but close. A few months later I had a pole in the garage (custom-built, thank you darling) and I had bumped up my membership to unlimited classes. I had invited friends to join me. I was hooked.

Now, at my one-year "pole-iversary" I'm preparing to start instructor training so I can help change other women's lives the way pole has changed mine. I've probably lost 15 pounds of fat and put on at least that much in muscle. Now I open the jars in this house, haha! I look at my body entirely differently now. I eat less, but better. I crave the afterburn of a good workout and the camaraderie of the studio.

I've also begun shooting pole photos. Not really seriously yet, but much of that is because we recently upgraded our lighting gear and prior to that it was pretty ghetto. I practice a lot on myself right now. But pole photography was inevitable. I spend most of every day behind a camera or editing photos. Pole is such a visually exciting form of dance, it's a perfect match.

So Alloy Images is finally up and running (the link is at the top of the page, under the title banner). My fiancee and partner Joe comes from the motorsports and product world. His studio experience helps me corral my sometimes wild, unhinged photojournalistic style and makes the dance shots much more polished. We hope to shoot much more pole soon, with the new light kit.

I decided to call the blog Twisted Grip because conquering the twisted grip is a major milestone for most pole dancers. Dance forums are full of posts titled "twisted grip - finally!!" or "twisted grip handspring today!!". Like learning to climb and getting the basic invert down, it's a big step toward the next level. Twisted grip is extremely difficult, dangerous, requires very strong arms and core. It's a badass move. It's very impressive.

Let me say right now that I don't have the twisted grip yet. You can be sure that once I get it down I'll write my own post titled "twisted grip - finally!!" with lots of exclamation points and cheering.

And that is what I hope this blog will be. A bit about my dance experiences, a bit of photo work, cool links and video clips of new tricks. Snapshots of really great "pole kisses" - bruises, rashes and all kinds of abrasions from the pole. New shoes, product reviews, outfit ideas. Personal progress reports.

So this blog is mostly a journal for me, but I hope it can be useful for other dancers as well. In the fly-fishing world (another of my passions) we say "tight lines" as farewell. It's a goodbye and best wishes, from one fisherman to the other for luck out on the water. In the dance world they say "break a leg," but that's so overused. Maybe... rock the pole. Kick some ass!