How Online Videos Changed The Dance World
At a hip-hop event in Dakar, Senegal, Onye Ozuzu, dean of the School of Fine and Performing Arts at Columbia College Chicago, noticed a move that looked familiar.
"I had just come from seeing Don Campbell at a festival in Colorado, where he was talking about locking and the way people used to point at each other," she says. "At this b-boy battle in Dakar, I remember watching the points happen, but they were all loose in the wrists. The dancers weren't pointing at anything specific. I remember thinking, Oh, that's what happens when you learn something off of YouTube."
As early as 2001, hard-core dance fanatics with digital-media skills—not exactly a huge group of people—could swap rare dance videos using peer-to-peer sites like Kazaa. But it was four years later on Valentine's Day that www.youtube.com went live, and a vast repository of hidden dance history began circulating worldwide.
Soon anyone with an internet connection could access David "Elsewhere" Bernal's early viral video, the Ross Sisters' jaw-dropping trio from the 1944 film Broadway Rhythm, or episodes of "Great Performances" originally broadcast on PBS, all for free.
Today, choreography once considered sacred and only transferred person-to-person is now self-taught, edited and remixed in bedrooms and basements, across the U.S. and beyond. No aspect of the dance industry, however commercial or "purely artistic," remains untouched by the explosion of video around the internet over the past decade. It's made a profound impact on everything from how students learn to what audiences want, when choreographers succeed and which artists win support from donors, funders and presenters.
Increasing Movement Evolution
One of the most obvious effects of online access to dance videos is the collective reshaping of techniques and trends. "Cultural forms always change as they travel," notes Ozuzu. "The combination of video and social media is now just a mode of cultural transportation, which both expands what dancers make and can have the effect of homogenization."
Even choreographers who are less seduced by the screen feel its pull. New York City– and Minneapolis-based choreographer Emily Johnson doesn't spend much time browsing Vimeo.
"The purpose of dance is to communicate kinesthetically and through energy, which I find hard to capture on camera," she says. But even she admits, "I very much appreciate being able to look up things that I'm geographically very far removed from, like the work of Aboriginal dance groups in Australia."
Quality Control and Trust Issues
Perhaps in part due to the likelihood that the defining characteristics of a dance will get lost in translation, many artists are wary of what and how much they're willing to share. As media specialist at the Maggie Allesee National Center for Choreography (MANCC) at Florida State University, Chris Cameron documents the creative processes of 10 to 12 resident artists each year.
"You might assume that the ubiquity of technology today might lead people to let down their guards and to be more comfortable around cameras," he says. "But it can go in the other direction too, when they're more hyperconscious of its power and of how it can color things. There is more tension now that more artists have brands over which they want to retain some control."
There is no shortage of examples of original work being appropriated—or stolen outright—due to the sheer amount of video online. Accusations of Beyoncé's plagiarism in 2011 of choreography by Anne Teresa De Keersmaeker seem at this point almost quaint postcards from another era.
"Someone once sent me a link with the note, 'Hm. This looks familiar…' and it was an exact replica of something I had done," Johnson reveals, before adding that she ultimately chose to brush it off. "I didn't pursue it, I didn't contact the person, I just let it be. I do recognize that ideas circulate in the world."
Ozuzu points out how fundamentally the internet turns tables. "People who've never had the experience of their work being appropriated before, because they always retained control over where and when it got presented and who could access it," she says, "are now sharing in an experience that many other creators of cultural content have had for a long time—only they experienced it because their people were conquered, or had to give lessons to those with more power. Now anyone with an iPhone can steal from anyone else."
Creating a Paradigm Shift
Joshua Beamish, artistic director of Vancouver- and New York City–based Joshua Beamish/MOVETHECOMPANY, recently worked on a 21st-century Giselle, looking at how that story would have played out in our world today.
"There are all these ways social media allows us to be deceptive about who we are," he says, explaining how Albrecht might have used a private profile to his advantage. The parallels between his current process and its product aren't lost on him. "I have to use social media in order to get the resources and to raise awareness of this piece, about how Giselle lives in the world of social media," he says with a chuckle.
Beamish finds this "new normal" enormously frustrating from a fundraising perspective. "Donors at a certain level used to be the only ones who were invited to rehearsals as a benefit; now rehearsal clips are just out there for anyone to watch. There are fewer low-cost incentives I can offer that feel exclusive and worth an investment."
Nevertheless, he says his core supporters still appreciate the difference between 30-second clips posted to Instagram and being able to watch as he collaborates with ensemble members in the studio. "That's seeing what's really behind the work. That's actual access to the actual process, versus a glimpse of process that, once it's shared online, just becomes another piece of product."
The Double-Edged Sword of Increased Access
Online video makes the dance world seem smaller in many ways. As video technology becomes ever more affordable and easier to use, the Princess Grace Foundation–USA, for example, says that both the number and overall quality of nominations for Princess Grace Awards has grown.
"But we've had to be more clear about asking to see continuous movement," program director Diana Kemppainen says. "When you edit out all of the transitions, our panel can't judge the artist fairly. It's in those transitional steps that you really see the quality of the dancer, which is why there's still no substitute for live performance."
Kemppainen acknowledges that video offers new levels of access: "We're a national organization which unfortunately doesn't have an extensive travel budget, so video is really wonderful in that it allows us to learn about what artists are doing around the country."
Other traditionally in-person processes have migrated online as well, from auditions to curation; dance critics have even reviewed artists they've never seen perform live.
Beamish supposes his entire career would've gone differently had YouTube been around at the turn of the millennium.
"I started my own company because I didn't know that there were people like William Forsythe or Ohad Naharin, whom I might've danced for," he says. "I didn't know there were European ballet companies that did contemporary dance, too, or places where you could get paid 13 months a year. Because there was so little access to what was happening around the world, I just chose a different path."
As an educator, Ozuzu appreciates how the bounty of accessible footage helps her and fellow faculty members "cut to the chase" in the classroom, even if at times it unsheathes a double-edged sword. "I spent a lot of time in the '90s screening grainy VHS tapes," she recalls, "in order to share images of, say, early butoh performances. Now, students walk in with so many more lenses and perspectives on the topic than I could possibly have curated for them—but that brings a lot of 'web garbage' into the room as well, from misleading comments below a video, or just a perspective that's been skewed. So it's win-and-lose. I think my generation sees more of the loss, while our students see more of the gain. Somehow, most of the time, we can meet in the middle."
From the minute my journey as a dancer began at age 4, there were no other options of what I might do with my life.
Sure, I tried other "after-school activities." I tried desperately to master The Phantom of the Opera with my squeaky violin rental—a headache for my parents who paid for private Suzuki method lessons at our house. Constantly attempting famous show tunes on my violin, the effort was completely futile. I actually remember thinking, 'Surely this sheet music is wrong, this sounds nothing like the Phantom of the Opera.'
I even tried my hand at gymnastics. But when my mom's brilliant bribery of $100 for my first mastery of a kip or a back handspring didn't produce any results, we quickly threw in the towel.
When Miami City Ballet artistic director Lourdes Lopez was a principal dancer at New York City Ballet, she missed her opportunity to honor Jerome Robbins onstage. "Every time there was a celebration for Jerry, I was either injured or had just retired," says Lopez. "I was never able to publicly thank him onstage for all that he taught us and the beauty he left us."
But when Lopez was planning MCB's Jerome Robbins Celebration for the 100th anniversary of the legend's birth, she saw an opportunity. She asked the Robbins Trust to allow her to perform the Ringmaster in Robbins' Circus Polka, a role the choreographer originated himself.
Growing up in inner city Rochester, NY, Aesha Ash was just one of the neighborhood kids. She'd imagine people driving by, judging her by her black skin.
"They'd never know that I was dreaming of becoming a professional ballet dancer. No one would think, Some day she's going to make it into New York City Ballet," says Ash.
After an inspiring career at NYCB, Béjart's Ballet Lausanne and LINES, the January 2006 Dance Magazine cover star—one of our 25 to Watch that year—is no longer performing. But she's determined to use her dance background to change the stereotypes and misconceptions that people—including black people—have about women of color. "I want to show it's okay to embrace our softer side, and let the world know we're multidimensional," says Ash.
Aesha Ash in Richmond, CA. PC Renee Scott via swandreamsproject.org
In 2011, she launched the Swan Dreams Project to inspire kids in the community she grew up in. The original idea was to post images of herself in a tutu all over Rochester. "I remember growing up and in the bodega you'd see images of girls in bikinis on motorbikes," says Ash. "I wanted to replace those with photos that show women of color in a different light."
She knew the power imagery can have: She still remembers what it felt like as a student at the School of American Ballet to see a photo of black ballet dancer Andrea Long. "That image was everything on days when I was feeling disenchanted. I'd see that picture of her, and know that the struggles I was going through, she went through them, too."
Ash soon realized she didn't have the budget to fund her original plan ("I never realized how expensive a bus stop advertisement is!"). But she's made the images available through an online store, and often simply gives away prints at her own expense to schools and students in need of some inspiration.
Any proceeds she makes from the sales go directly to other organizations that are working to expand ballet in diverse communities. One large donation even led to a pointe shoe fund at dancer Robyn Gardenhire's City Ballet of Los Angeles school—and it helped one dancer who had quit ballet because of the expense come back to class.
Now a mother of two in San Jose, CA, Ash will also start teaching a free after-school ballet class at her daughter's public school next month. "I recently taught at Girls Inc. in Oakland, and one of the little black girls said, 'Are you the ballet teacher?' She just stood there, staring at me with her mouth open, like a unicorn had just walked into the room," Ash says. "You never know the impact you can have just by being a presence."
Ever find yourself lusting after that six o'clock penché, or a développé that will reach your nose? You're not alone. The eye is naturally drawn to the end points of a movement, and, in dance, that often translates to the highest extension.
But what if you're born without extreme, Instagram-worthy lines? It's a matter of developing a laser focus on alignment as well as strengthening and stretching with better body mechanics in mind.
From coast to coast, choreographers have spent the first year of Donald Trump's presidency responding to the impact of his election and what it means for them as artists.
New York City's Dante Brown used rubber Trump masks in his work Package (revamped), which examines the monstrosities of power.
A video titled "Dancers vs. Trump Quotes" went viral last summer, showing dancers taking Trump's "locker-room" talk to task.
Alexis Convento, lead curator of the New York City–based Current Sessions, dedicated a whole program to the concept of resistance, while educator and interdisciplinary artist Jill Sigman has initiated a workshop called "Body Politic, Somatic Selves," as a space for movement research around questions of support, activism and solidarity.
In San Francisco, choreographer Margaret Jenkins facilitated a panel of artists about the role of activism within their work.
When London-based perfume company The Beautiful Mind Series was looking for a collaborator for their next scent, they skipped the usual celebrity set and brought in prima ballerina Polina Semionova instead. "I was fascinated by what goes on in the mind of a great dancer," perfumer Geza Schoen said in a press release. Semionova's ballet-inspired scent, Precision & Grace, celebrates the intelligence and beauty behind her craft.
Courtesy of The Beautiful Mind Series
The ever-so-busy Kyle Abraham is back in New York City for a brief visit with his company Abraham.In.Motion as they prepare for an exciting spring season of new endeavors with some surprising guests. The company will be debuting a new program at The Joyce Theater on May 1, that will include two new pieces from Abraham, restaged works by Doug Varone and Bebe Miller, and a world premiere from Andrea Miller. Talk about an exciting line-up!
We caught up with Abraham during a recent rehearsal where he revealed what he is tired of hearing in the dance community.
Choreographer Tero Saarinen has a proclivity for the peculiar—and for epic orchestral music. That he should be commissioned by the Los Angeles Philharmonic to create a new dance work to accompany the U.S. premiere of Bernd Alois Zimmermann's Cello Concerto en forme de pas de trois only makes sense. Zimmermann's eerie, difficult-to-classify composition falls squarely in Saarinen's wheelhouse. Walt Disney Concert Hall, Jan. 19–21. laphil.com.
Two competition routines are equal in technical proficiency, artistry and choreography. One consists of all girls, the other includes a boy. Guess which takes home first prize?
If you guessed the one with the boy, you may be privy to an unspoken and much-debated phenomenon in the competition dance world: The Boy Factor. According to The Boy Factor, a competitive piece is more likely to win if there's a boy in it.
"If it's all technically equal and one group is all girls and the other group has a boy, the one with the boy will win," says Rysa Childress, owner of All Star Studios in Forest Hills, New York. "Boy soloists are sometimes scored higher than more technically proficient girls because if a boy has good stage presence, we let him slide," says an anonymous competition judge. "And most of the feedback will be for the boy."
I'll never forget something Roberto Bolle once told me when I was interviewing him about his workout regimen: Talking about how much he loved to swim, he said, "I would love to go in the Italian sea, but I am too well-known there to show up in my suit."
It always amused and kinda shocked me that a ballet dancer could reach that level of fame. But it's true: In his native Italy, Bolle is a bonafide celerity.