MFA Monday: Why I despise the word ‘passion…

by Lydia MFA Mondays

MFA right

And this is why I despise the word ‘passion,’ or Establishing our own value

by Matthew Cumbie

 

 

How much is my career am I worth? How much is my art work worth? When is it ok for me to ask for expect compensation for my services?

These are questions that I struggle with almost daily. And I’m willing to wager my small salary that many of you struggle with these same, or similar, questions at various points in your artistic career. Why is that? What is the cause for this dilemma? And when did it become O.K. to divert our attention from addressing these questions by saying, “Oh, you do it because you love it”?

Before I go any further, I want to say that I feel very, very fortunate for my current situation and for those experiences and situations that have led me to where I am. I realize that few opportunities to do what I do exist, and to get paid to do those things is sometimes unreal. And I love what I do. But I don’t ever recall this to be a reason that we not pay someone for their work. Returning to our questions above, the reasons could by many: too little funding, it’s a great experience, I don’t have a budget, and many others that we could compile over a few glasses of wine I’m sure. And while these all might be true and very valid, I would like to throw one (or two, depending on how you look at it) more in the mix that I find often unacknowledged: you and me.

That’s right. We are sometimes the cause of our own problems, especially in this situation. I say this because we, as performers and makers and teachers, perpetuate this problem of not paying artists when we participate in this cycle. We do it because we have no other option. We do it because we want to be involved in this love affair at whatever the cost. We do it because we know that if we don’t, someone else will…and for free. We do it because we want that, that right there, on our CV. You know, so when we decide that we’re marketable or valuable we’ll have more artistic weight to throw around. And that’s the magic button- we decide.

This is where the water gets murky, though. When do we put our collective foot down and say enough is enough, and that I have bills to pay too? I recently had a discussion with a good friend from my undergraduate years regarding this issue of paying dancers. Following school, we pursued very different paths; both still involved in the field but in different professional capacities. I say this only to illustrate that we are coming from different vantage points. Anyways, our debate came down to a discussion about experience and caused me to reflect on my own participation in this unspoken poor person’s treatise. Prior to and throughout graduate school, I viewed getting paid to dance as an added bonus. I was there for the experience, and felt quite uncomfortable addressing the compensation side of things. Almost afraid to bring up the subject, really. As if some omniscient fairy would one day fly down, take all that money (which was not a lot) that I had earned from various dance gigs, and bop me on the nose for being silly enough to think that I could make a living doing something that I enjoyed so much. Looking back, I’m not sure that I thought much about the fact that I had to work a number of other jobs to carve out a sustainable life; some of that might have had to do with my age and some with the place in which I was living (a much, much lower cost of living than where I’ve been post graduate school).

Immediately following graduate school, I moved to New York City for the second time (the first was brief and I was young- another story for another time). Surely, I thought, here would be a progressive community of like minded professionals who all valued dance the same as I and wanted to acknowledge and celebrate our abilities as professional artists by paying each other accordingly. Wrong. Instead I found myself having to work a number of projects simultaneously, as well as work a few other odd jobs to pay my rent…and loans. What ended up happening in this time period, interestingly, was probably more valuable than actually being paid enough to make a living; I finally started to look at how I was allocating my time and my work and began to curate what opportunities interested me the most, looking at what kinds of experiences I would be invested in and what kind of investment this artist was making in me. All of the artists I found myself working with at some point verbally acknowledged that the amount we were receiving was nowhere near what it should have been or what they would like it to be, and I appreciated the dialogue and knowing that they were making efforts to help us create a sustainable life. I appreciated the external validation that I was valuable in the same way that I saw myself as valuable.

More recently, my friend and fellow Dance Exchange artist Sarah Levitt and I were attending an arts conference about sustaining and growing the arts. When discussing how our various organizations might do more for less, it was suggested that we all hire interns because, “they don’t need to be paid.” Both Sarah and I, having had many conversations privately about paying artists/people what they are worth, were aghast. While I realize that internships provide excellent opportunities, and many of these opportunities are unpaid, the manner in which this comment was so brazenly delivered had me seriously questioning at what point do we deem someone valuable enough? Is there a transition point when we go from being unvaluable to valuable? Does it hurt? I mean, interns are people too. Somewhat related, Sarah and I have talked about a ‘new model’ for the arts, something we’ve both heard from various sources. As a working artist, the proposed new way to do your work is to get a full time job doing something else and to do your art on the side. Why? What does that say about how we value our work then? Not that I think it’s a bad model, but I believe that we all should be able to create our own models for working and sustaining ourselves. If I want to make a living by creating art, then I should be able to do that and know that it’s my responsibility to be able to communicate why this art is valuable to a larger audience.

The whole point of this blog is not to answer any questions really. It’s to ask more questions. Why is the system like this? What are we educating and telling the future dance makers and artists out there? That there are prescribed ways of working? Of valuing? Of navigating this diverse and rich field? I hope not. If we’re ever going to challenge our old ways of doing and thinking, we need to start talking about it. I think that making the decision to be valuable is up to each individual, and to weight that against whatever the experience might be and whatever the compensation might (or might not) be. You are of value, rich with history and talent and ideas. I’d like to think that through this conversation and acknowledgement of who we are and how what we do is worth something, that perhaps we can start to change the system. Perhaps we can up the ante and help create, find, or inspire those funding sources. Maybe we can encourage more artists to think about how they’re working with others and compensating them for their time. Hopefully we can challenge this popular, romantic belief that we are only in this because we love it, that our passion for dancing is what gets us through. Hopefully.

And that is why I despise the word ‘passion.’

 

matt_cumbie

Matthew Cumbie is a professional dance artist based in Washington, DC, and is currently a Resident Artist and the Education Coordinator for the Dance Exchange. As a company member with the Dance Exchange, he works with communities across the United States and abroad in collaborative art-making and creative research as a means to further develop our understanding of our selves and community in relation to the environment around us. He has also been a company member with Keith Thompson/danceTactics performance group, and has performed with Mark Dendy, the Von Howard Project, Sarah Gamblin, Jordan Fuchs, jhon stronks, Paloma McGregor, and Jill Sigman/thinkdance. His own work has been shown in New York, Texas, New Mexico, Louisiana, and at Harvard University. He has taught at Dance New Amsterdam, Texas Woman’s University, and Queensborough Community College. He holds an M.F.A. in dance from Texas Woman’s University.

 

 

MFA Monday: What’s the Magic Word?

by Lydia MFA Mondays

Happy Monday, Framers!

 

Confessions of an MFA: Day 2 – The Magic Word

 

For most people, we hear the phrase what’s the magic word and immediately think of childhood.  Of course I remember robotically adding please to every question I posed, just in the hopes of avoiding the inevitable question that was sure to come if I didn’t say it.  As I get older, though, and continue to explore this crazy world of dance, I am starting to think that perhaps my mom was actually mistaken.  Please isn’t the magic word.  It’s a great word and one that should certainly stay in everyone’s vocabulary.  But the word that actually carries magic for me is one that is much shorter, yet so much harder to say.  No.

I have always been the queen of yes, especially when it comes to dance.  It has never been uncommon to find me, Sunday afternoon, in a princess dress, teaching the two year old birthday girl how to do a plié, and absolutely emitting bitterness that I didn’t have the ability to say no.  I feel like it is engrained in me to say yes first, think later.  It’s certainly a personality flaw – although, I have to say, I don’t think the years of being drilled with the rules of dance class etiquette helped any.  Every dancer I know is a yes person.  How else would post modern have come to be?  Respect it though I do, can you imagine the first meeting with your choreographer describing the piece?

Moving out to a new city and looking for new teaching positions, this yes tendency of mine has been in full effect.  Being the overly organized personality type that I am, I decided the only way to solve this problem was to create a no checklist based on all of the clues I should have paid attention to in the past when talking with potential employers.  If an offer had a “no” answer to any of the questions, I gave myself permission to say that magic little word.  Here is a section from my “Not For Me Checklist,” as I titled it

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MFA Mondays

by Lydia MFA Mondays

MFA right

 

 

Happy St. Patrick’s Day, Framers!

 

Confessions of an MFA: Day 1

 

Recently, I’ve been thinking a lot about connections in dance and the dance community.  I’ve come to the conclusion that, really, the relationship between a dancer and company, a teacher and school, an artist and product, all follow the path of a romance.  First, there’s a honeymoon phase – everything is exciting and new, every word spoken is brilliant, every action is appealing.  Then you stumble upon your first fight.  Suddenly, those parts that were once so endearing are now incredibly irritating and need to change right now.  Finally, you settle into a comfort with each other, knowing and accepting the quirks and, hopefully, making each other a little bit better.

Such has been the nature of my relationship with dance.  It feels as though there are constantly parts of me in each phase of the relationship, continuously cycling between fighting with each other and comforting each other.  We break up and get back together.  It’s a messy and confusing relationship, and perhaps not always the most healthy one.  But when it’s good, it’s so good, and so I can’t let it go.

About six months ago, I made a decision that, many days, feels like the craziest one I have ever made.  Without a job or a plan in place, I packed up an oversized Uhaul, attached my car to the hitch, and drove across six state lines to move from the Bay Area to Denver, Colorado.

For many people, this would be a big deal, you probably should have done it sooner situation.  For me, the queen of planning, organizing, and budgeting, this was an epic, earth shattering life change, one which I did not handle particularly gracefully.  There was a great deal of time spent crying into a blanket, staring longing at a bottle of wine and realizing it was only 1 pm on a Tuesday, and so opening it was not acceptable.  I think I probably said “I’m getting on a plane back home tomorrow!” at least ten times.

In this haze of tears and wine (although it didn’t get opened at 1 pm, it certainly was opened eventually), I started to reflect on what exactly it was that I was missing so intensely.  Of course I missed my friends and family and knowing my way around.  But what truly lay at the core of my sadness was that I felt so alone.  I no longer had a community of any kind that I belonged to, and that was something I hadn’t ever experienced.

As an artist, our community is my inspiration.  The work that my friends, colleagues, and mentors are doing is what motivates me to do the work that I am doing.  Without being a part of that community in a new city, I felt completely devoid of stimulation, devoid of creativity.  I felt alone with my tumultuous relationship with dance.

I came to the realization that the dance community is my web of well-being.  They are the people that I go to when I want to sing the praises of dance and when I need to vent on how dance has treated me.  They are, for lack of a better description, my girlfriends.  And even though our community may not always be in the honeymoon phase, I think we always reach a place of comfort and support.

Slowly, as the months have passed, I am starting to find my dance community here.  It’s certainly not something that can be forced, but something that I can keep trying to build and develop.  It’s a new relationship and I just hope to hold off our first fight for as long as possible.

 

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Mary Grimes is a dancer, choreographer, writer, teacher, and working artist living in the Bay Area.  Since receiving her MFA in Performance and Choreography from Mills College, she has started working as a dance writer and critique, writing for such magazines as Dance and Dance Studio Life.  She has had to opportunity to work with accomplished choreographers including Trisha Brown, Yvonne Rainer, Molissa Fenley, and Marc Bamuthi Joseph.  Her choreographer has been presented nationally.  In the future, Mary hopes to continue her work as a dance writer and is excited to see where this path will take her.

MFA Monday

by Lydia MFA Mondays

                   Happy Monday Framers! 

      Enjoy reflections by Angela Falcone! 

 

 

A Critical Assessment of “Drill Team” vs. “Concert Dance” Culture
 
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“Drill team” is its own culture in the dance world; it has its own set of expectations, language, behaviors, and customs.  A drill team is a group of trained dancers that perform precision in various dance genres during football halftime shows, local parades, and dance competitions. Over the years, I have noticed a regimented trend within drill team choreography.  After experiencing collegiate dance making processes and developing my own personal process, I believe the process of generating high school drill team choreography can be expanded and explored to parallel the ideals of concert dance making.

Typically, drill team choreographers have a limited amount of time with their dancers, while a wide range of choreographers in concert dance have residencies that last from a couple of days to a number of weeks.  Both processes also pose different outcomes.  The drill team choreographic process is final product based, whereas the concert dance world is more interested in the actual process. In attempts to introduce the drill team industry to the processes of concert dance, I believe there are various avenues to generate choreography.  Some examples of these avenues stem from Tere O’Connor’s “lines of research,” which is taken from a workshop with Headlong Dance Theater’s choreographers and Larry Lavender’s “IDEA model,” which comes from his book about “facilitating the choreographic process.”

As previously stated, Tere O’Connor’s “lines of research” would be an essential attribute to drill team dance making.  “Lines of research” is an investigation of particular obsessions that can be as simple as a hand gesture.  Exploring this single movement can then become a process in and of itself.  What is “interesting, evocative, [or] curious” about this particular movement and how many different ways can you explore this hand gesture through timing, direction, and manipulation? By investigating this single gesture, a person can be provoked to make an entire work about that one move (if they so desired).  This “lines of research” idea allows the movement to evolve and develop, rather than dictating what the movement should be.  In Tere O’Connor’s “blook” (his version of a book and blog), he mentions that he wants to “make work as a method for processing a constellation of ideas.”  In drill team, the final product is the goal, but by exploring O’Connor’s method, I would hope to see a shift in the mentality by allowing the process to be the rich, driving force of the work.

Another intervention of drill team that could be implemented is Larry Lavender’s “IDEA model.”  This model serves as a way to approach, generate, and manipulate choreography. “IDEA” is an acronym that stands for Improvisation, Development, Evaluation, and Assimilation.  While I believe drill team choreographers use some of these modes, I do think there can be more involvement with each of these four modes to enrich every aspect of drill team choreography.  In the chapter of Lavender’s book Contemporary Choreography: a critical reader, he mentions that all of these IDEA modes should be present in the creative operation of dance making. 

The one mode that is not present in drill team is improvisation.  The mode of “Improvisation” is essentially what it sounds like, experimenting and improvising with different movements with different bodies.  Reflecting on my background of drill team, improvisation is unheard of and somewhat frowned upon in this industry. My intention with this method would be to develop a movement dialogue with the choreographer and dancers, while also making and inventing different movement through a more artistic, personal, and vulnerable place.

As explained above, there are numerous possibilities that are feasible for the drill team industry.  My ambition is to one day shift the paradigm of drill team choreography by infusing the principles of Larry Lavender and Tere O’Connor into the world of drill team by diving deeper into the work and creating richer developments and opportunities of movement in order to lead up to a process-based final product, instead of simply a final product.

 

 

IMG_0739Falcone3Falcone2 (1)

Angela Falcone, a Houston native, graduated from Friendswood High School in 2007.  She was a member of the drill team, the Friendswood Wranglerettes, where she held the title of Grand Marshal. After graduating, she followed her dream and tried out for the Kilgore College Rangerettes. She had the honor of being chosen as the Freshmen Sergeant and Swingster her freshman year, and received the greatest honor of being chosen as Captain her sophomore year. Following graduation from Kilgore College with an Associate in Fine Arts, she was accepted to the University of Texas at Austin, where she holds a B.F.A. in Dance.  Angela currently attends Texas Woman’s University in Denton, Texas where she is pursuing her M.F.A. in Dance.  She is specifically interested in shifting the paradigm of high school drill team by reinvigorating the choreographic process and bringing a somatic awareness to high school dancers’ bodies.  

MFA Monday!

by Lydia MFA Mondays

MFA right

       Happy Monday, Framers!

 

For those of your who might not know…The “MFA Monday” series features the musings of local Master of Fine Arts holders. Enjoy their thoughts on the process of attaining an MFA!

 

 

Nothing Ventured, Nothing Gained

 

In my two previous blogs I talked about things that I missed in my graduate school experience, due to either the limitations of my program or of my own imagination. In writing about these experiences, it is my hope that others will have the opportunity to take advantage of these powerful resources that are within reach but may be easy to miss. However, I certainly don’t intend to diminish my graduate school experience; indeed, they were some of best years of my life, both personally and creatively. To that end, here are some of the top things I gained from graduate school:

 

Not everyone likes my work and that is OK. For an artist, rejection is the pits. It is a massive blow to the ego the first time someone says something negative about one’s work. “How can they not like something that I poured my heart and soul into? I shall now crawl into a small hole and weep!” In graduate school, along with plenty of positive feedback from faculty and peers, I got a lot of honest constructive feedback about things that weren’t working. No one wants to hear that their work isn’t beloved by people they respect, but it helps you grow. I made a lot of good work in graduate school and I also made some real crap. Thanks in part to the criticism I received, I can now better distinguish between the two. Learning to take and give constructive feedback is essential to a choreographer. You do not have to take all suggestions that are given to you, but you should always listen. It is hard to be objective about your own work; it is your baby and your baby is beautiful, right? Be open to an outsider who may see something you are missing.

Don’t apologize for your work. Your work should express who you are. Will you be that same person in 5 years? Probably not, but that is not the point. Don’t change your work to suit someone else’s opinions. Everyone is my graduate program was very diverse and our aesthetics were wildly different. We had choreographers who believed in pure technical movement, work with a strong socio- political outlook, work that was fun and light, and everything in-between. It was easy to compare my work to my fellow classmates’ and feel like I didn’t stack up. My work has always run more towards the abstract side of things, and at times, I felt like my work lacked substance compared to that of my classmates. It needed to say more and be more. I needed to be an ARTIST!, not an artist. Eventually, I learned to embrace my own personal style and creative process. I learned to express my own voice and appreciate my own artistic sensibilities.

Surround yourself with a good support system. I would not have made it through graduate school without my fellow classmates. Graduate school is completely overwhelming at times. It can feel like a giant hamster wheel of rehearsals, papers, costume purchases, and job responsibilities. I was very lucky to find some terrific friends that became family to me. Lean on each other and you will make it to graduation day together.

If you love what you do, don’t give up! When I see acquaintances or classmates, they always ask if I am still dancing. Everyone seems pleasantly surprised that I am still “keeping the dream alive.” Here’s the bottom line: I have hated every non-dance job I have held. I hate sitting behind a desk; it makes me physically itchy. My body wants to move! I have never wanted to do anything else, so I keep plugging away. It has been a lean and hard life at times, but I never seriously consider giving it up. Being an artist requires resourcefulness, perseverance, and a willingness to sacrifice. You probably won’t be able to afford expensive gadgets, vacations, or a new car. You may have to take side jobs and hustle every skill you have into something that makes you employable. It is not the right life choice for everyone, but it has always been the right one for me. In graduate school, it is easier to maintain your focus, but in the real world the lack of money becomes a little more real. Remember why you love dancing and what you worked for in graduate school. Use that support system of fellow grad students. You will all be in a similar boat and can throw each other a life preserver when one of you falls overboard.

Go to school because you love dance and want to learn more. Graduate school is expensive and time consuming. Graduate school doesn’t guarantee you a job. Graduate school is extremely stressful and frustrating as hell at times. If you are lucky enough to get a TA (teaching assistant or any job on campus), your salary will be low and your work load will be significant. However, I have never regretted my choice to attend graduate school. I went to graduate school because I love choreographing and I was able to fully immerse myself in the art of creating dance for three wonderful and challenging years. If you choose to pursue an MFA, do it for the experience and you will be rewarded.

Don’t be afraid to start over. You can start a dance with a great idea, but sometimes it just doesn’t take shape. You can craft it and change phrases around, but it just doesn’t feel right. In graduate school, you learn to roll with the punches and start pieces a million times until they finally take shape. As an adult, change can be terrifying and pretty sucky, but it is sometimes necessary. This past fall, I moved to Texas to take my current job at Rice University. I loved my life in North Carolina, but professionally, I was stagnant. I knew it had to change. I decided to approach this move like the new section of a long work. I use those skills to start building a new work and a new beginning. I am excited to see how the next phrase develops.

 

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heatherHeather Nabors is the Assistant Director of Dance Programs at Rice University. Heather relocated to Houston this summer from North Carolina. Heather has been a teacher and freelance choreographer in NC since 2005. She served as an adjunct faculty member at Catawba College, Greensboro College, Elon University, and UNCG. In 2012, Heather founded ArtsMash, a collaborative arts concert in NC. Her work has been presented at ArtsMash, The Saturday Series, UNCG Dance Department Alumni Concert, Greensboro Fringe Festival and the American Dance Festival’s Acts to Follow. She has choreographed over 14 musicals in NC for community theaters and local high schools including Rent, Oklahoma! ,The King & I, Legally Blonde, Little Shop of Horrors, and Children of Eden. Heather received her MFA in Choreography from The University of North Carolina at Greensboro.

MFA Monday

by Lydia MFA Mondays

MFA right

Happy Monday Framers!

Enjoy the MFA Monday installment by

Dr. Alexis Weisbord!

We have a had a pleasure reading her posts,

and this one is sure to inspire and uplift! 

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Part 2: Thinking Beyond

Five years is a long time and a lot can happen during that time. When I moved to California in August 2005, I didn’t know exactly where I was going to end up in June 2010, but I would have told you one definite thing: I would not be in Riverside County. Yet here we are in April 2013 and guess where I am… that’s right, Riverside County.

As I previously mentioned, I entered grad school with no attachments that I was obligated to attend to or return to, so I figured when it was all over and done with I could go wherever the wind took me. I envisioned applying for fellowships and visiting positions, and I was going to live my dream of traveling and moving. I did not have any interest in setting roots anywhere yet, and then the most amazing complication occurred: I met a wonderful partner. This was wonderful for all the reasons and benefits that make having a partner desirable: he was a tremendous support through the entirety of my exam and dissertation process, he happily pushed the cart at Trader Joes and didn’t judge me for the 12 bottles of wine I’d picked out, he calmly listened to me stress about the writing process, and he was never bothered by the odd hours I kept. But… and most people wouldn’t read this as a problem, he already had a job. Not just a job, a career. And one he really loves. He spends his days getting paid for something he would happily do for free most days. And if that wasn’t good enough, it is incredibly stable and has great benefits. Again, who would ever complain about such a wonderful fate?! Apparently me.

There I was, recently out of school, newly married, and tied down to a city (more like a town) where my degree was completely useless. In a desperate attempt to find some work that didn’t involve pouring coffee or serving food, I applied to teach at a local studio. They had a competitive team program that was good but not the best in town, they seemed to like the class I taught, and I thought I had a great interview. I was so willing to do this job I even offered the same (low) rate I was offering when I was first out of undergrad. Yet, the same day my degree was conferred I was notified that I didn’t get the job. I was beat out by a student in the community college program I was an adjunct in. As far as I can tell, this was because she probably offered a rate that was a fraction of what I offered. Two degrees in dance, a dissertation on competition dance, years of experience teaching in studios and colleges as well as almost a decade working for competitions and I was unable to get a job at a studio.

With the exception of a local community college program, I quickly realized that I lived in a wasteland for the arts, or at least for the kind I was trained and qualified for. I was, and still am, on faculty at the college; however, California’s badly damaged economy has limited the opportunities I will have at this program for years to come. I applied for both part and full time positions within a 100-mile radius, and after some time, I started to realize that taking a job with a 90+ minute commute (each way) was insane if I ever hoped to have a family and be a part of that family.

I began to conceptualize what kinds of options might be out there for me. I began to think about all the other career paths I could explore that would require the skills of my PhD, even if it didn’t require the degree itself. I realized that since the jobs I thought I wanted five years earlier were not only difficult to come by because of the plummeting economy, but were even more difficult to find because I was now geographically limited.  Since the community I lived in had no jobs for me, it was time for me to create my own work.

I have more or less taken every position that has been offered to me. Any day of the week you can find me donning four or five different hats. I once went to an event where I represented three different organizations simultaneously. Since completing graduate school, I have taught part time at three different collegiate institutions (including in a Global Studies program), began managing a small, but busy, professional dance company, became part of a collective of choreographers that produces events and workshops locally, found a local studio that I love teaching at, and I started my own local dance company.  Meanwhile, I find ways to collaborate with long distance colleagues on scholarly work.

On my worst days I feel like my brain is going to fracture and cause me to lose my mind. On my best days I am completely fulfilled, feeling like I am not missing out on a single part of the wonderful world of dance. I get to teach all ages, and I get to perform when I want. I’ve learned that I love managing productions, and I never feel pressured when I sit down to write or research because it is always by choice. My days can be exhausting and I am excruciatingly underpaid because many of these positions are with brand new organizations that I am helping to build, but I see potential for a future in this wasteland that I live in. I see a future that I not only like, but a future that might just need someone exactly like me to help it succeed. The way I see it, no one may think that I am valuable now, but if I help to show them what I can do and what they are missing, then maybe one day there will be a local need for me and my degree.

I’d like to acknowledge that none of what I am doing in this effort is done alone. I have a small network of local colleagues who not only provide me opportunities but also support my endeavors. Together, I see us building a community that will not only provide for us but also for our neighbors. I am fully aware of the fact that my unstable lifestyle is made feasible by the fact that I have a partner whose stable job gives us many benefits, including health insurance. Because of this, I am able to take career risks that might not be smart decisions otherwise, so I recognize that this path may not be for everyone.

What I do encourage anyone, regardless of their marital status, geographic location or financial stability, to consider, however, are the many possibilities for their skills and degree. In academia, it is not uncommon to be conditioned to follow a narrow career path. But, just imagine what our world would look like if more arts administrators were MFAs or Ph.D. Imagine what it would look like if those on grant panels were working artists and not reps from corporations. Imagine if the majority of teachers in dance studios had MFAs. As other bloggers have said, you won’t be rich, but none of us go this direction for the money. So get creative about what you could do, because the possibilities are endless!

 

 

397136_10100231328148394_276944621_nDr. Alexis Weisbord received her BFA in Dance from University of Minnesota and her PhD in Critical Dance Studies from UC Riverside. Alexis was a competitive dancer in high school and later spent over ten years directing dance competitions throughout the US. Her dissertation was entitled “Redefining Dance: Competition Dance in the United States” and she has a chapter, “Defining Dance, Creating Commodity: The Rhetoric of So You Think You Can Dance,” in the forthcoming Oxford Handbook of Dance and the Popular Screen. Alexis has held positions as Lecturer in Global Studies at UC Riverside and Associate Faculty in Dance at Norco College. Currently she is an Associate Faculty member at Mt. San Jacinto College, Managing Director for The PGK Dance Project in San Diego, and founder/co-director of an emerging dance company, Alias Movement.

MFA Monday

by Lydia MFA Mondays

MFA right

 

 

 

 

 

 

Happy Monday Framers!

 

Enjoy this MFA Monday installment by

Dr. Alexis Weisbord!

 

 

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Part 2: Thinking Beyond

Five years is a long time and a lot can happen during that time. When I moved to California in August 2005, I didn’t know exactly where I was going to end up in June 2010, but I would have told you one definite thing: I would not be in Riverside County. Yet here we are in April 2013 and guess where I am… that’s right, Riverside County.

As I previously mentioned, I entered grad school with no attachments that I was obligated to attend to or return to, so I figured when it was all over and done with I could go wherever the wind took me. I envisioned applying for fellowships and visiting positions, and I was going to live my dream of traveling and moving. I did not have any interest in setting roots anywhere yet, and then the most amazing complication occurred: I met a wonderful partner. This was wonderful for all the reasons and benefits that make having a partner desirable: he was a tremendous support through the entirety of my exam and dissertation process, he happily pushed the cart at Trader Joes and didn’t judge me for the 12 bottles of wine I’d picked out, he calmly listened to me stress about the writing process, and he was never bothered by the odd hours I kept. But… and most people wouldn’t read this as a problem, he already had a job. Not just a job, a career. And one he really loves. He spends his days getting paid for something he would happily do for free most days. And if that wasn’t good enough, it is incredibly stable and has great benefits. Again, who would ever complain about such a wonderful fate?! Apparently me.

There I was, recently out of school, newly married, and tied down to a city (more like a town) where my degree was completely useless. In a desperate attempt to find some work that didn’t involve pouring coffee or serving food, I applied to teach at a local studio. They had a competitive team program that was good but not the best in town, they seemed to like the class I taught, and I thought I had a great interview. I was so willing to do this job I even offered the same (low) rate I was offering when I was first out of undergrad. Yet, the same day my degree was conferred I was notified that I didn’t get the job. I was beat out by a student in the community college program I was an adjunct in. As far as I can tell, this was because she probably offered a rate that was a fraction of what I offered. Two degrees in dance, a dissertation on competition dance, years of experience teaching in studios and colleges as well as almost a decade working for competitions and I was unable to get a job at a studio.

With the exception of a local community college program, I quickly realized that I lived in a wasteland for the arts, or at least for the kind I was trained and qualified for. I was, and still am, on faculty at the college; however, California’s badly damaged economy has limited the opportunities I will have at this program for years to come. I applied for both part and full time positions within a 100-mile radius, and after some time, I started to realize that taking a job with a 90+ minute commute (each way) was insane if I ever hoped to have a family and be a part of that family.

I began to conceptualize what kinds of options might be out there for me. I began to think about all the other career paths I could explore that would require the skills of my PhD, even if it didn’t require the degree itself. I realized that since the jobs I thought I wanted five years earlier were not only difficult to come by because of the plummeting economy, but were even more difficult to find because I was now geographically limited.  Since the community I lived in had no jobs for me, it was time for me to create my own work.

I have more or less taken every position that has been offered to me. Any day of the week you can find me donning four or five different hats. I once went to an event where I represented three different organizations simultaneously. Since completing graduate school, I have taught part time at three different collegiate institutions (including in a Global Studies program), began managing a small, but busy, professional dance company, became part of a collective of choreographers that produces events and workshops locally, found a local studio that I love teaching at, and I started my own local dance company.  Meanwhile, I find ways to collaborate with long distance colleagues on scholarly work.

On my worst days I feel like my brain is going to fracture and cause me to lose my mind. On my best days I am completely fulfilled, feeling like I am not missing out on a single part of the wonderful world of dance. I get to teach all ages, and I get to perform when I want. I’ve learned that I love managing productions, and I never feel pressured when I sit down to write or research because it is always by choice. My days can be exhausting and I am excruciatingly underpaid because many of these positions are with brand new organizations that I am helping to build, but I see potential for a future in this wasteland that I live in. I see a future that I not only like, but a future that might just need someone exactly like me to help it succeed. The way I see it, no one may think that I am valuable now, but if I help to show them what I can do and what they are missing, then maybe one day there will be a local need for me and my degree.

I’d like to acknowledge that none of what I am doing in this effort is done alone. I have a small network of local colleagues who not only provide me opportunities but also support my endeavors. Together, I see us building a community that will not only provide for us but also for our neighbors. I am fully aware of the fact that my unstable lifestyle is made feasible by the fact that I have a partner whose stable job gives us many benefits, including health insurance. Because of this, I am able to take career risks that might not be smart decisions otherwise, so I recognize that this path may not be for everyone.

What I do encourage anyone, regardless of their marital status, geographic location or financial stability, to consider, however, are the many possibilities for their skills and degree. In academia, it is not uncommon to be conditioned to follow a narrow career path. But, just imagine what our world would look like if more arts administrators were MFAs or Ph.D. Imagine what it would look like if those on grant panels were working artists and not reps from corporations. Imagine if the majority of teachers in dance studios had MFAs. As other bloggers have said, you won’t be rich, but none of us go this direction for the money. So get creative about what you could do, because the possibilities are endless!

 

 

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Dr. Alexis Weisbord received her BFA in Dance from University of Minnesota and her PhD in Critical Dance Studies from UC Riverside. Alexis was a competitive dancer in high school and later spent over ten years directing dance competitions throughout the US. Her dissertation was entitled “Redefining Dance: Competition Dance in the United States” and she has a chapter, “Defining Dance, Creating Commodity: The Rhetoric of So You Think You Can Dance,” in the forthcoming Oxford Handbook of Dance and the Popular Screen. Alexis has held positions as Lecturer in Global Studies at UC Riverside and Associate Faculty in Dance at Norco College. Currently she is an Associate Faculty member at Mt. San Jacinto College, Managing Director for The PGK Dance Project in San Diego, and founder/co-director of an emerging dance company, Alias Movement.

 

 

MFA Monday!

by Lydia MFA Mondays

               Hi Framers, Happy Monday!

MFA Monday typically centers on musings from local holders of Master of Fine Arts, but for this series we’ve got something a little different! For the next three weeks we will get to hear from a contributor all the way from California…drrrrum rrrolll please: 

Part 1 of 3

As I sit here trying to figure out how to start writing about my experience in graduate school, I am becoming keenly aware of my many mixed feelings about my time there and my time since. So here is to hoping that whatever comes out here makes some sort of sense, for me if no one else.

First let me say that if I could go back and do it all again, I would have waited a few years after undergrad before going to graduate school. I started my doctorate at age 22, immediately after completing my BFA.  A lot happened in the subsequent five years of my life while I was in school and working on my dissertation. Your early twenties are incredibly formative years, but I wouldn’t know because I spent them ALL in school.  So all I know is how formative graduate school can be.

The moment I learned that a field called “Dance Studies” existed, something in me shifted. Growing up with parents who were teachers and in an academically rigorous community, I have always enjoyed traditional learning. But dance was always my passion. Until college, I thought the two things existed separately.

Although I have danced since I was a child, I’ve never thought of myself as much of an artist. When I was given the choice to write a thesis or choreograph a concert for my Senior Project in undergrad, I only considered the concert option for about 15 seconds. I wanted to write. I was interested in the research process and wanted to be a part of something that blew people’s minds the way Dance Studies did for me when I was 19. After dancing and thinking separately for two decades, I was excited to discover a place where both worked together. I’m not suggesting that choreographing and performing doesn’t require both activities simultaneously, because it certainly does. For me, growing up dancing meant just replicating with no thinking. And while I logically understand that both can, and do, happen in the same body at the same time, I am not sure I have ever fully understood how to make that happen for myself. Even to this day, I don’t fancy myself much of an artist and am incredibly insecure about my own artistic process and choreographic product. But give me a page and I will write! Give me an inspired theoretical text and I will happily analyze movement! In fact, at my going away party before I moved for grad school, I remember a conversation with a dear girlfriend and brilliant choreographer. She couldn’t quite understand why I was choosing to subject myself to even more schooling immediately after graduation. I remember telling her, “I want to be able to write about what you do. I want help people know it exists and remember that it exists for the rest of time.” So when I was 22, that was my plan: To write. About dance. Beyond that, I had no idea what graduate school and a doctorate in dance meant. This should have been my first clue…

I was excited for the letters after my name. I was excited because it sounded cool. But, frankly, the whole thing was hardly planned. I applied because it came recommended from a trusted mentor and I didn’t have any other plans. I honestly didn’t think I’d get in. In retrospect, I wish I hadn’t. I wish I could have taken an extra year to work, even if it meant working as a caterer, to think about life, about myself, and what I wanted in my future. I could have read more, increased my vocabulary, and written more. I would have interacted with more people, learn what life was like outside of that of a full-time student, and simply enjoyed a moment in my 20s before real life became too permanent and demanding.

I think that year in between would have helped me avoid the panic attack I had the third week of classes. Towards the end of a seminar, in a small and crowded room, after trying to stay calm for several weeks, the realization that I simply had no idea what I was doing came flooding over me. It turns out everyone in graduate programs are REALLY smart (usually). It’s like having a class full of only the smart kids that raise their hands.  Let me clarify, it’s not “like” that, it is that. This is really intimidating for the quiet 22 year old who is keenly aware of her own inexperience. So in that moment, I couldn’t figure out why I’d moved away from everything I knew. I couldn’t figure out how I came to sit in a room with so many people who were so much smarter than me. I was convinced that I’d never succeed, that I’d possibly even truly fail for the first time ever. Suddenly, the classroom door got farther and farther away, the tears welled up and I realized that I would not get through graduate school without crying in public…

Now, I’m not suggesting that a year serving food and working for minimum wage would have kept me from crying in graduate school, but I do think it would have made me more confident and more self-assured. I think I could have come in with a better perspective of the world and not one developed solely from books and research. Or maybe even a master’s program would have helped. I thought I was on the fast-track because I was special, smarter than the average bear. And I might have been. But no matter how good I felt when I got that acceptance letter, no matter how smart I may have been in undergrad, I found myself in a room with a collection of people that still, to this day, are the smartest people I know, with more experience, more knowledge, and more skill than I had in that moment. If there is one thing I am confident in in life, it’s my intelligence. But graduate school is NOT real life. These people were/are really brilliant. I was too inexperienced to have confidence in my own intelligence in that moment (and many more to follow).

The one thing I wish someone had told me before I went to school was: “Wait, not yet, maybe next year.” Graduate school is only what you make of it, so be sure you have all the tools and resources you might need to get the most out of it. It’s like trying to paint the walls before you’ve done the primer. It’ll get done, but the color could be sharper and last longer if you prime it first.

 

Stay tuned for more from Dr. Alexis Weisbord!

 

 

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Dr. Alexis A. Weisbord received her BFA in Dance from University of Minnesota and her PhD in Critical Dance Studies from UC Riverside. Alexis was a competitive dancer in high school and later spent over ten years directing dance competitions throughout the US. Her dissertation was entitled “Redefining Dance: Competition Dance in the United States” and she has a chapter, “Defining Dance, Creating Commodity: The Rhetoric of So You Think You Can Dance,” in the forthcoming Oxford Handbook of Dance and the Popular Screen. Alexis has held positions as Lecturer in Global Studies at UC Riverside and Associate Faculty in Dance at Norco College. Currently she is an Associate Faculty member at Mt. San Jacinto College, Managing Director for The PGK Dance Project in San Diego, and founder/co-director of an emerging dance company, Alias Movement.