Kate Wallich's Dance Church Classes Are Bringing Joy to Non-Dancers—and New Audiences to Dance
Tony Matesi, Courtesy Dance Church
In 2010, Kate Wallich was a 22-year-old choreographer in Seattle, struggling to make dances and, like most young artists, also pay the rent. She had started her own dance company, Studio Kate Wallich, but hated how insular the contemporary dance world felt (dancers were the only ones who came to class or performances).
So she made a bold decision: she opened up her Sunday morning company class to, well, anyone—and soonDance Church was born.
Walk into a Dance Church class at 10 am on a Sunday morning anywhere in the country and here's what you'll find: dancers and non-dancers of all ages, dancing, jumping, laughing, singing, sweating joyfully for almost 90 minutes straight to music by Beyoncé, Lady Gaga and Cher. (Truly all ages: Though recommended for 14 and up, I brought my 5 year old and there were women in their sixties.)
The "church" part has nothing to do with religion—the name stuck because the class happens on Sunday mornings and because it felt like a weekly ritual.
The experience is far from a traditional modern, jazz or hip hop class: there are no mirrors, no phrases to follow, no anxiety about getting it "right" or looking stupid. The teacher—a trained contemporary dancer with deep knowledge of physiology—is in the middle, guiding you, and the movement goes from all-out dance party (think of the best wedding ever) to elements of a fitness class (jumping jacks, sit-ups).
This focus on joy and openness—and away from the competition of other fitness classes and the dance world—was intentional: "I don't want anyone to feel trapped in technique, in their bodies," Wallich says. "I want to be in spaces of positivity and joy."
There is no pushing, no force. It's not about losing weight or accomplishing more. Teachers will often say, "You can go at 100% or at 5% today—your body knows best."
"It is not boutique fitness," Wallich says. "It's not a culture of 'You made it! You can go harder!' It is not the culture of 'Just go a little more!'" The inclusivity and openness is disarming and freeing—as is the mix of students: computer programmers rub up against professional ballerinas.
Courtesy Dance Church
This was a huge part of the idea, right from its conception: "When you come to Dance Church," Wallich says, "you're supporting dance." The funds from each class go back to the teachers (all independent dance artists) and their companies.
Also, the teachers are building a dance audience from the ground up. "The mission is to connect artists with the public and to create empathetic experiences between artist and the public," she explains. "It's tremendously empowering when a dance artist is standing in the center of room, laughing, sweating and singing with whoever shows up—and then can say, 'You can come see us in a show!' And then some tech guy from Amazon is sitting in the audience and gets to empathize with art-making practice."
Over the last few years, Dance Church has expanded from Seattle to Portland, New York City, Los Angeles and Indianapolis. This growth has happened organically, "through genuine connection and relationships through our work," Wallich says. So when the company tours and meets dancers from other companies, many of those artists become trained in Dance Church methods and start teaching in those cities. "As Dance Church grows and expands, we're looking forward to being able to support more work and artists in each community directly."
James Whiteside (Jayme Thornton for Dance Magazine)
Say you're perpetually impeccable designer Thom Browne. Say you're planning your Spring 2020 Paris menswear show along a "Versailles country club" theme. Say you want a world-class danseur to open the show with some kind of appropriately fabulous choreography.
Who do you call? James Whiteside, of course. On Saturday, the American Ballet Theatre principal—wearing pointe shoes and a glorious pinstriped tutu—kicked off Browne's presentation at the École des Beaux-Arts with a 15-minute, show-stealing solo. Whiteside choreographed the piece himself, with the help of detailed notes from the designer.
I'd been a professional dancer for five years when I realized the pain I'd been feeling in my hip and down my sciatic nerve was not going away. I had been treating it for two years as we dancers do—with regular visits to my masseuse, physical therapy, baths, ice and lots of Aleve—but I never stopped dancing. It finally dawned on me that if I kept going at the speed I was going (which was, well, speedy), the pain would only get more severe and unrelenting, and I might never dance again.
I told myself I'd take two months off, and all would be better.
That first morning when I woke up at 10 am, I had no idea what to do with myself. My life until that moment had been dictated by class and rehearsal, every hour accounted for. How should I fill the huge swath of time ahead of me?