Defensive Dancing

***DISCLAIMER: 

If you agree with this blog.... Good.

If you think I'm talking about you...  I probably am.

If you don't think this applies to you...  It probably does. 

If it does apply to you...  It's not personal.  I probably still like you as a person... I just can't stand dancing next to you.***

Ok.  Now that I've got that out the way...

I ranted, raved, and complained wrote in a blog entry a few years back about the lack of floorcraft in the salsa scene, and how we'd all be dead if many people's driving matched their dance floor navigation.  Not much has changed since then, unfortunately.  Folks are still out here dancing as if no one else is on the floor with them, having a dangerous "I don't care how crowded it is, I'm finna get these moves out" mentality.  So here I am, getting back on my high-horse one 'mo 'gain (that's "once more, again" for those who don't follow), trying to change the salsa world one blog at a time. 

Ok, don't get me wrong, y'all; I understand that the dance floor is often a crowded place.  Accidents are going to happen, and no matter how hard you try, you can't avoid them completely.  However, this is not an excuse to dance with reckless abandon.  It's one thing when beginners and casual "I go salsa dancing once or twice a year at most" dancers do inconsiderate things, like not keeping their space, backing onto a dance floor blindly (I hope y'all don't back out of parking spots like that...), and cramming onto a dance floor when the more considerate thing to do would be to just sit the song out (Sit the song out? That's out of the question! -_-).  It's no less annoying when it's the beginners, but forgivable.  What irks me the most is that, far too often, it's the salseros who are guilty of the same foolishness.  Social dancing veterans who really should know better.  

Now, the old me used to take the path of least resistance and just move away from wild dancers.  Since there are a crap-ton of wild dancers on the floor at any given time, this meant that I would end up doing more dodging than dancing, which I quickly grew tired of.  This lead me to develop I technique I call "defensive dancing".  

Defensive dancing is basically holding your ground; using your body language and dancing to convey to others, "HEY! I've been maintaining my space this whole time.  You should do the same."  Yes, the kicker here is that, to use defensive dancing, you yourself have to already be practicing good floorcraft: keeping your moves small, being consistent in what and how much space you're using to dance, making sure you have room to execute your moves before you do them... You know, things every "good" dancer should know and practice already.  In other words, check yourself, first.

Once you've determined all of the above, you position yourself so that if any reckless dancers around you should intrude on your space, they bump into you, and not your partner.  Yes, fellas... this means taking one for the team and being a gentleman.  Another thing I do is that I've conditioned myself to, upon contact, give a little push back.  Not enough to really push, but just enough for the person to realize, "Oh, this person isn't going to move out of my way.  Oh wait... Maybe I'm actually in his way."  I also do this when someone chooses to squeeze their way into space next to me that is obviously too small to dance in.  For instance, numerous times I've been dancing less than a body width away from the edge of the floor, and someone decides to, in their infinite wisdom, cram into that space.  It doesn't always work, but more often than not, they get the picture and move on to an area with a bit more space.

I use defensive dancing, not just because I don't want to spend the majority of a dance rescuing my partner from the paths of reckless, inconsiderate people (although I'm more than willing to do so), but also because if all we do is move out of their way, those dancers will never get the hint that they indeed are taking up too much space or not watching where they're going.  "Well, who died made you the traffic cop, Myron?"  Nobody, actually, but somebody has to do it.  "But salsa is about having fun!" you might say.  Well, having fun and being considerate aren't mutually exclusive.  And it's always all fun & salsa until you get crucified to the floor by a stiletto, or you darn near get KO'd by a random ladies styling arm.  

The Dancer In You... The REAL You

"When a body moves, it's the most revealing thing. Dance for me a minute and I'll tell you who you are". - Baryshnikov

It is often said that dance, like other forms of art, is a form of self-expression. I mentioned in a previous blog how, even as a dancer, I wasn't quite sure I knew what this really meant. Of course, there are times when we feel joy, sadness, fear, rage; emotions that can be translated clearly and vividly through our movements. But what about those times when you're just dancing for fun? What about those moments when you're not really feeling a particular emotion? What exactly is it that we are expressing with our bodies at that point? Are we expressing anything at all? Or is it the physical equivalent of someone who is "talkin' loud but ain't sayin' nothin'"?

Although dancing can be used to project emotions or tell a story, I've come to the conclusion that the self-expression aspect of dance goes a bit deeper than that. Pictures are said to be worth a thousand words, but I believe our bodies in motion can express things that words can't even say. This may be a stretch, but I think sometimes our bodies, through dance, say things that our minds have always wanted to say, but never had the words for it; something so raw and primal that to attach a word to it would be horribly understating the idea.

I also believe, just like with other visual arts like drawing and painting, dance is a gateway into our imaginations; a portal through which our ideas and dreams can escape into reality. Speaking of escaping, dance can also be a way to escape reality. We can be momentarily free of all the stress and chaos going on in our lives. We can also step out of our normal selves and become another character, or that person we always wanted to be, but are afraid to be for whatever reason.

"The dance floor is the place where one can become a totally different person; however, the person you become is invariably the window into who you really are". - Ana Masacote

On more than one occasion, I've had a non-dancer friend (Wha? Friends who don't dance? Who has those?), after seeing me dance, tell me that I seem to transform into a completely different person. At first, I wholeheartedly agreed. When I dance --especially when I'm in that "zone"-- you see no traces of the shy, self-conscious, insecure person I once was. Through dance and other areas of my life, God has helped me grow out of that. However, I'm not a finished product by any means. Add that to the fact that it's not hard to digress into my old self from time to time, and it will seem as if the "dancer" me and the "normal" me are two different people.

However, I noticed something interesting as I watched others dance. In the case of the dancers whom I had the chance to know both off and on the dance floor, I discovered that their dancing matched their personalities. In many cases, their dancing was an amplification of their personalities. I then began to consider my own dancing, and sure enough, my observation was true for me as well. Those that know me in person know that I am a very calm, even-tempered person. I'm not above having moments of extreme emotion, but for the most part, I'm very relaxed, mellow, and laid-back. The more I danced, the more I realized that my personality is reflected in my dancing. Though I can adjust to be flashy and flamboyant when needed, my dance style is normally tranquil, fluid & "smooth" (hey, that's what people always told me... I didn't make that up ;-) ). Even the tempo of music that I prefer dancing to fits me. Something just a few BPMs slower than medium-speed, something I can just cruise and glide along to, milking the beat for all it's worth, hitting every little break and nuance in the music that I can. That's pretty much me in real life -- going with the flow, enjoying the small things and intricate details as they come my way.

I mentioned earlier that I sometimes struggle with being introverted and insecure at times. I've grown by leaps and bounds in those areas. Shoot, a younger me would have cringed at the thought of being on a stage doing anything, let alone dancing. It blows me away every time I consider the fact that one of my biggest fears was speaking in front of people, yet, I look that fear square in the eye every Thursday and Friday when I teach my salsa classes. Despite my growth, I still have those flaws. There's a common misconception about dancers and other performers that we seek and crave attention, but that could not be any farther from the truth for some of us. For me, it shows in my dancing. When I'm just out social dancing, I have no problem. If I'm dancing socially and I notice that people just happen to be watching, I turn it up a bit. Not to attract more attention to myself, but to help me tune out the attention that's already on me. You see, I really just don't like being the center of attention. If I'm performing on stage, or if I'm put on display for the purpose of entertaining others... I can still dance, but it takes mental effort to distract myself away from the fact that others are watching me. I also seem to lose much of my sense of spontaneity. My movements aren't quite as free and energetic; I end up being more controlled, possibly by my fear of looking stupid. Again, my battle with that fear is becoming easier to battle the more I dance, but I have a feeling it will be a life-long fight.

"I don't look at dance as a separate part of my life but as an extension of it. Rather than take on a different persona, I prefer to indulge the current one but add a touch of artistry to it". - Magna Gopal

My observations have brought me to the conclusion that, for those of us who are at least somewhat proficient in dancing, we do not become different people at all; rather, we are the same people with more tools at our disposal with which to express ourselves. Being able to dance and have above-average or better body control is the equivalent to giving a speaker or writer a deeper vocabulary, or giving a painter a larger set of colors to splash upon the canvas. Dancing, like everything that I just mentioned, loosens the reigns that usually exist on our normal selves, allowing us to show the world more parts of ourselves that we otherwise aren't able to or are afraid to. The dancer in you is, in many cases, the raw, uncut, unabridged, unadulterated you. The dancer in you isn't a different "you", it is the real "you".

Putting "You" Into It

The other night, I received a compliment from one of my salsa buddies that really stood out to me. He had watched me teach several times, but had never actually watched me dance. He told me that, while he was very impressed with my dancing, he noticed something different about me. He went on about how, when he watches most dancers, their dance styles make it very obvious as to who their instructors were and which dancers they look up to. However, when he watched me, even having known the people I had taken lessons with, he wasn’t able to discern from my dancing who I had learned from or who I modeled my dancing after. He described me as “seamless.”

As I thanked him for the compliment, I explained to him why it meant so much to me, not just to get a compliment on my dancing, but to get that compliment specifically. Just as I did with him, I’ll take you guys back to my days as a "salsa scrub". I had been dancing and taking lessons since October of 2002, but it wasn’t until 2004 that I got involved in Atlanta’s salsa scene heavily. In the beginning of 2006, I was extra hungry and eager to improve, so along with taking as many classes and workshops as I could, I bought a video camera so that I could track my progress as a dancer. From time to time, I would have a friend record me dancing with some of my favorite salseras. To my dismay, I hardly ever liked what I saw. More often than not, I would bore myself when I watched the footage of my social dancing. "I look like that?!?! For real?"

After several months of cringing at the sight of my own dancing, I finally figured out why I was so discouraged with my personal performance. I realized that I was comparing myself to the dancers that I looked up to. I had subconsciously decided that anything I did that didn't stack up to what my salsa role-models could do just wasn't good enough. I was expecting too much of myself. I had to remind myself that, although I had been progressing, I had yet to put in the same years of training that those who inspired me did, so I couldn't expect myself to look as good as them (yet). But it wasn't just in that regard that I wasn't being fair to myself. Not only was I not on their level skill-wise, but I wasn't them. I had to realize that even if I ever matched them in talent and skill, I still will never be them. I will never be Gordon Neil. I will never be Joel Masacote, Sekou McMiller, Al Espinoza, or any other "salsa celebrity" I looked up to. At the same time, however, neither of them will ever be me.

You see, I came to the conclusion that, while I should still take inspiration from my role models and peers, I shouldn't try to be like them. No one will ever "do them" better than they can, and no one will ever "do me" better than I can. Yes, I may learn moves and techniques from various instructors and performers, but once I do them correctly, I then have to make them my own. I have to put "me" into it. This epiphany of mine gave me the conviction that a dancer should strive to find his or her self. I say this at the risk of being cliche (I hate that with a passion) but a dancer has to have his or her own dance style. I believe that we do our instructors and role models --and ourselves as well-- a huge disservice if we become carbon copies of them. No one should be able to look at a dancer and say "I can tell he's such-and-such's student" or "it's obvious that what's-her-face is her role model."

"How do I keep myself from becoming a clone of my instructor?" you might ask. It has a lot to do with what I mentioned earlier: putting "you" into your dance style. I know, I know... That's such a vague term, and I really have no way of explaining what exactly that means. I'd kick myself right now if I could, because I'm breaking a teaching rule that I live and die by, which is to not teach anything that you can't break down. Anyway, I digress... I suppose it's vague for a reason: I can't really tell you how to find yourself. Heck, I really don't even know how I found myself in my dancing. I do know, however, that once I realized that I could only be me and no one else, it eventually came out. I'm not sure if it's even something you can tangibly go after or take practical steps towards. I think it kind of just gradually comes about once you decide to be an individual. You absorb everything when it comes to technique of course, but as far as moves and persona, you begin to filter things out, keeping what you like and discarding the rest.

One thing that I believe will help is just knowing yourself, period. It's been my experience that a dancer's personality is reflected through their dancing, sometimes even amplified. If you're the type that loves attention, it will show. For instance, I recall one instructor who was around in my early days as a salsero, he was the prototypical "oozin' machismo", Alpha-male Latino. Everything about his dancing gave off a powerful, "look at me" type of energy. Me, on the other hand, I've always been a very calm, reserved person, and that shows in my dancing as well. I learned LA style salsa first, which tends to be more flashy and aggressive, but all the dancers that I eventually would look up to danced NY style --fluid, mellow and smooth-- which resonated with my personality more. Being blessed with long legs and arms as well (very little of me is torso), NY style also fit my body type. Once I learned the difference, I began to gravitate towards NY style salsa. My style is ever-evolving, but I would say that the dancer in me is very "smoove" and playful, or "tranquilo", as I was most recently described by a local Latin band member.

I had to express all of this to my friend (in fewer words, of course) because to me, it was confirmation that I had come such a long way from where I was before, and to hear it from someone else meant a lot to me. I hope that, through my teaching, dancing and blogging, I can inspire other dancers to have the same outlook on their dance lives. To be themselves and also to become better versions of themselves, constantly evolving and progressing.