a statement for teachers who don't call themselves teacher
It’s more than
ten years that I am into movement research. The first steps towards my passion
of analyzing dance happened to be my own experiences of a young dancer in a
theatre company. I remember hours of intense training, guided by the motivation
to become a perfect copy of my former idols, such as Pina Bausch.
Reflecting my
thoughts and my expectations at the age of 15, I can sum it up like this: my
goals differed from what I would try to achieve today. At the age of 15, my
major aim was to look good on stage, to receive admiration for my physical
skills and express myself through this. I was bored by analytic and slow
methods, such as Alexander technique – instead I wanted to push myself towards
my physical limits and shock the public with amazing choreographies.
At that time, we
were all rebels, physical revolutionists and body lovers at the same time. I
thought, I will be a good dancer, once I dance well – even though I didn’t know
what that “well”-thing would be about.
Today I consider
myself to be a researcher in movement. Even though I love dynamic and acrobatic
movements, I use to integrate more and more moments of stillness and patience
into my dance. My drive to move is influenced by an internal curiosity to
explore the movement from the inside, instead of showing it to the outside.
Sometimes, when I think back to my theatre times, I start to understand the
deeper meaning of several exercises and the purpose of complex and slow
techniques.
One might say I
grew up ‘physical mature’. This is a process; many dancers have lived through
as well.
Sometimes I
attend classes hosting beginners and professionals. There I often observe an
interesting phenomenon, which can be transferred into many other systems of
education – the lack of empathy for this “process of beginning”.
Teachers usually
have experienced stages of development during their own process, which leads
them to the point where they can label themselves a teacher. Often they try to
show us the world from their current point of view- forgetting, that this
perspective is not accessible for a beginner yet. In order to understand a
certain practice, it is important to live through all the failures and
achievements a process might offer you. People, who learned to dance beautiful
ballet, might end up with minimalistic contemporary movements. Performers who
used to jump and scream around during improvisation classes develop the courage
to enjoy stillness and silence on stage.
But - in order
to realize the positive aspects of stillness or reduced movement, you have to
try the opposite before. Teacher should not teach us to jump over a certain level, but guide
us through it. A good teacher teaches us how to fail.
This idea of
teaching people how to fail, allows us another thought: once I fail during a
process, I have to think about solutions on my own, which enquiries my
creativity and offers the possibility to find new ways of exploring.
If you are a
teacher, take your time and reflect your first days of a beginner. Maybe you
remember your first unconfident tryouts and your questions, your curiosity and
your hesitation.
Once I heard a
nice quote, I want to share with you: “I would never consider myself to be a
professional in any way – because I aim to keep the awareness and the openness
of a beginner.”
