MFA Monday: Rebekah Chappell

by Lydia MFA Mondays

Hi Framers!  A very happy summer Monday to you!  We are embarking on some exciting and fresh MFA Monday contributions this summer, and we are thrilled to begin with Rebekah Chappell.  She is about to leave Houston for an MFA program and tells us here about how she chose a program.  Reading this, I was impressed by how thoroughly she searched for the right program, and her very wise steps to get to her final choice.  What do you think?

photo by Simon Gentry
photo by Simon Gentry

 

MFA Monday Part I:

For as long as I can remember, I have wanted to pursue my MFA in Dance. I love school. I love the community of learning, the diversity of disciplines and perspectives, the atmosphere of inquiry and exploration, the smell of new books, the hustle and bustle of the campus, and the fresh start every semester. Most of all I love the relationships that are built through discussion and inquiry. I have been researching Graduate Schools for years, taking notes, making lists, and asking every MFA graduate I know about the process.  This past winter I auditioned at Smith College, The University of Maryland, and The University of Iowa.  I accepted an offer at The University of Iowa, and will begin Fall 2014.  Here are a few things I learned in the process and questions I encourage you to ask if you are considering returning to school.

 

 Researching programs:

 What are you looking for in a program?  As I began my research, I had a short list of must haves including the opportunity to teach, as well as emphasis on improvisation, somatic practices, and choreography for alternative spaces. My deal breaker was financial aid. I only applied to programs that offered a full tuition waiver to ALL students accepted into the program.  While this greatly reduced my options and made the programs extremely competitive, I knew that if I was accepted into a school without financial assistance, I would be too tempted to take out loans. Tuition waivers are generally part of package labeled as a scholarship, fellowship, and/or assistantship. These appointments can include different responsibilities in the dance department such as teaching and administrative work.  At The University of Iowa, I will be responsible for teaching three classes a year.  In the fall, I am currently scheduled to teach Continuing Ballet to non-majors.

 Many MFA programs have an emphasis in either performance or choreography.  Some programs offer tracks in both areas, allowing you to select the track that meets your goals.  Regardless of your preference, take a very close look at the required and elective courses offered at each school, and gage your interest in each class. For example, I was not excited about taking mandatory ballet classes.  I wanted the freedom to decide what my movement practice entailed.  I ruled out schools that required mandatory technique classes in ballet.

 Most programs also have a MFA handbook that contains specific details about expectations, timelines, and descriptions of required assignments and coursework.  Some schools post these handbooks on their websites, if the handbook is not readily available online, check to see if the school would be willing to email you a copy.  This detailed document will let you know what to expect of each program, and what each semester may look like.  Personally, I was able to rule out a program on my short list after I examined the required summer reading list.  I realized that the faculties’ interest did not match my own.

 Lastly, at most schools there is a professor assigned to graduate recruiting. I contacted these professors and had a Skype conversation to further discuss their programs the summer before auditions.  I found that during the summer, faculty had more time available to converse.  In my experience, how you are able to interact with your teachers is a key component in learning.  I wanted to see how we might get along and relate before applying. I was grateful that I had this opportunity as the audition experience is condensed into one or two days, and it is difficult to have in depth conversation.

 

The application and audition process:

 Why do you want to go to graduate school at this time? Why did you apply to our program? What do you hope to research / explore / learn while you are in school? Every program I looked into asked these three questions at one point or another.  These are the crucial questions that help determine whether you are accepted.  More and more artists are returning to Graduate School; the pool of candidates I encountered were driven, successful and had a diversity of talents and experiences. Schools are looking for applicants who are going to be a good fit for their specific program.  It is important to tailor your answers to each program and be specific and clear with your intentions.

 In retrospect I wish I had answered those last two questions differently.  I noticed while auditioning that most programs have their “claim to fame”, something they are proud of and that sets them apart from other schools. For me, that was the thing that had drawn me to their program.  I felt silly sharing details about their program in my application, as I felt it was redundant.  If I had to do it again, I would be more specific in mentioning those strengths and how they would help me accomplish my goals in a tangible way.  Make sure you address in your application how their program will help you achieve a specific goal as it shows that you did research and that your interest and goals align with the program.  Remember that a MFA program is two- three years long; be realistic about what you can do in that amount of time.

 Some schools offer the option of staying with a current graduate student during your audition visit.  I highly recommend this experience. While the accommodations may not be private or luxurious, it provides valuable insight into your potential quality of life.  All three of the places I auditioned would have resulted in relocating to a new region of the US.  I learned a lot about the lifestyles of each area. For example, at The University of Iowa most students walk or take public bus transportation to school due to parking difficulties.  This played a big part in the housing my husband and I end up selecting.  Staying with a graduate student also provides a deeper insight into the dance department, and allows you to get to know a potential cohort better.  I found that both parties were more honest in the privacy of the home.

 Finally, don’t forget that your entire visit is an interview. While this may seem obvious, be sure to bring professional dress clothing to change into after dancing or teaching.  I would recommend being able to walk outside comfortably in whatever shoes you select.  I spent quite a bit of time trekking through the snow! Be professional, everything you do and say may be passed on to the selection committee. It can be difficult to have grace and poise when you are in unfamiliar territory and full of nerves!  Do your best to stay positive, patient, calm, and open to the experience and whatever it may entail. Don’t forget to smile, breath, and have fun!

 

” I am looking forward to sharing my perspective again in the fall

after I have started school.  In the meantime, I’d love to hear

from you with questions or your viewpoint! ”

Rebekah Chappell is from Williamsburg, Virginia. She holds a BFA in Dance, Summa Cum Laude (2009) from Shenandoah University.  She has also studied at the summer intensives of American Dance Festival, Dance New Amsterdam, and North Carolina Dance Theater. After graduating from Shenandoah, Rebekah lived in Costa Rica where she taught and choreographed at Danceworks Costa Rica and Promethean Spark: Danza par la Vida. She then moved to Houston, Texas, where she has had the delight of dancing for choreographers Jennifer Wood, Karen Stokes, Sandra Organ Solis, Erin Reck, Jane Weiner, Steve Rooks, Stephen Koplowitz, Roxanne Claire, and Ashley Horn.  Currently she is Adjunct Faculty at San Jacinto College South and teaches at Claire School of Dance.  Her choreography has been presented in Costa Rica in Cartago, Escazu, and San Jose, and in Texas at The Dance Gathering, Big Range Dance Festival, San Jacinto College South, Fieldworks Showcases, Venturing Out, 12 Minutes Max!, and Houston Choreographers X6. Rebekah will be starting her MFA Dance coursework, fall 2014, at The University of Iowa. You can learn more about Rebekah here:  http://rebekahchappell.weebly.com/

 

 

 

MFA Monday: Stephanie Todd Wong

by Lydia MFA Mondays

MFA right

 

 

It’s a new day, a new MONDAY. We welcome Stephanie Todd Wong to the Frame Dance blog. Enjoy her experiences today and for the next two weeks!

 

The Highs and Lows of My Personal Experience

 

I received my MFA from George Mason University in 2004 and I look back on those three years through a lens of extremes.  Fondness, frustration, pride, uncomfort, growth are all words I use often when telling others about my experience. For me, it was a life changing experience full of highs and lows, as I believe it should be for everyone.

 

Highs:

Structure and resources:  I suddenly had both! Class everyday, someone consistently asking me questions, challenging me, reserved studio time for rehearsal and dancers waiting for me, deadlines etc. It is amazing the work you can create when you have what you need to create it and the structure to both support and push you to produce your best.

 

Friends and colleagues:  Some of my dearest friends were either colleagues I met while in school or my professors. The dance world is a small one and the relationships I built while in the program are just as important to me now as they were then.  Our paths cross consistently and we still find ways to help and support one another.

 

Growth:  I exited my MFA program a completely different artist than how I entered. I fully embraced the journey and allowed myself to be changed by it. The growth I experienced during those three years is probably one of things I’m most proud of.

 

Lows:

University politics:  I wasn’t prepared for the reality of the politics I was exposed to during this time.  I’m not sure if it was because of my specific program or the difference between being an undergrad versus a grad student, but the politics involved were much more evident.  There were times I had to fight with administration to do what was best for me and I found it very frustrating.  But it was also an important part of the learning process.

 

Exhaustion/Life Outside the Grad School Bubble:  Or should I say the lack of my life outside the grad school bubble.  An MFA program is intense with a lot of demands on your time.  I taught adjunct while I was getting my degree and between teaching, my own classes, readings and assignments, rehearsals and performances, I was rarely anywhere other than the studio.

 

Cost:  Grad school is expensive and I’m still paying back my student loans. And while I don’t love writing those checks each month,  it was worth it for me.

 

 

 

Stephanie Wong - 20130303-1-2 webStephanie Todd Wong moved to Houston in 2008 after spending ten years in Washington DC as a dancer, choreographer, dance teacher and dance administrator.  Stephanie holds a BA in Dance from Mercyhurst College and received her MFA in Dance from George Mason University in 2004.  While living in Washington she was a dancer in the Dakshina/Daniel Phoenix Singh Dance Company, which performed in various locations in DC and New York City.  She also had the privilege of working with Lorry May, founding director of Sokolow Dance Foundation to learn and perform Anna Sokolow’s The Lament for the Death of a Bullfighter.  As a choreographer, Stephanie’s work was presented at both Joy of Motion and Dance Place.  Stephanie also spent time teaching dance and worked to create a high school dance program for The Flint Hill School in Vienna Virginia.  Beginning in 2007, Stephanie began working for Dance/MetroDC, the local branch office of Dance/USA, serving as its Programs Associate and ultimately its Interim Director.  In this role she was responsible for creating and executing all the organizations programming, including the Metro DC Dance Awards, a region wide awards program that took place at The John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts.  Stephanie became Executive Director of Dance Source Houston in 2011 and currently sits on the Advisory Board for Arts + Culture Magazine and an Affiliate Working Group of Dance/USA.

MFA Monday: Matthew Cumbie

by Lydia MFA Mondays

MFA right

 

 

“During the pause is the ideal time to listen…”

 

Time is a funny thing. When you want more of it, it doesn’t seem to exist. When you’re anticipating something coming or going, you really wish that time would fly by. At least that’s been my experience. You see, I’m a planner, as I’m sure many of us are. How can you not be when you’re a working artist? Between scheduling rehearsals, performances, application deadlines, auditions, teaching gigs, meals, and maybe (just maybe) some personal time- one sometimes has to be quite diligent about putting things down somewhere. I find that when I do put those things down, though, often my mind will wander away into future- or past-ness. In rehearsals this last week, in every down minute that I had I realized that I was thinking to the weeks ahead, going over schedules to make sure that I hadn’t missed anything or adding new things to a growing To Do list to accomplish who knows when. Even this morning over breakfast, I was trolling through photos on my phone, going over where I had been and what I had done and missing people, places, and specific times in my life. The funny thing about time and all of this, though, is that in missing or not missing things both past and present I am missing what’s happening right now. Right in front of my face. Literally. My dog is asleep on one of his beds under a side table (a favorite spot of his), my coffee grows cold, and a slightly overcast DC gets a bit sunnier outside.

As a mover and improviser, being present in the moment is something of a goal of mine. For me, being present means being aware and responsive to the temporal moment, tracking your internal choice making and external stimuli simultaneously. It’s of such interest that it even had an entire section of research devoted to it in my professional paper for my MFA. I bring this up because I realize how much of a slippery slope getting caught up in planning and reflecting can be, and how important it is to ground oneself in the now as much as we can. It is in these moments that I feel as if time expands and I can really do so much with what time I have, relieving stress and allowing me to appreciate what I have and what is presented to me.

Now how do we go about attuning ourselves to the now? Really I believe that this is a personal process, one that we develop with repetition and over time. In my practice, it’s about finding a pause or interruption. When improvising and moving from one score to another, a certain kind of momentum builds that is either physically manifested in the body or an internal momentum of choice making in which choices are made before they are fully realized, or both. As soon as I acknowledge that I’ve been riding this dizzying wave of momentum and that I might not be tracking or seeing certain possibilities, I quickly search for a pause or interruption so that I might re-engage in the now and gather a new sort of clarity. Applying this same process to our daily lives, as soon as I realize that I’m stressing about what is going to happen next week or when I’ll be able to take a day off, or if I’m reminiscing about the ‘good ol’ days’ and missing my friends from Texas terribly, I similarly try to find a way to pause or interrupt that process so that I can be more fully present in the moment.

In doing so, I’m better able to notice vibrant colors, textures, make connections that are more meaningful and authentic with others, and better appreciate myself and my potential (to name a few). I realize that maintaining this kind of perception, this responsive sense of seeing and experiencing, can be difficult. And all of this is not to say that we shouldn’t think ahead or look back, as both are wonderful reminders or where we’ve been and where we’re headed. But I firmly believe that if we take the time to pause or interrupt ourselves more frequently, that we’ll better be able to consciously craft our selves and track a more rich and meaningful path.

So for the sake of brevity, and to practice rather than preach, I’m going to bring this to a close. I don’t want to toil over what to write or whether or not this or that thing said will be a more relevant nugget of whatever; I want to cling to my belief that within each of us, our bodies and stories, lives wisdom that we all might draw upon and that by attuning to the temporal moment we might more readily access that. There is so much activity happening right now; the air is buzzing. Harness that energy and do something. In fact, if anything, I encourage you to always do something.

Go make something. Go see something. Go talk about something with someone. Find a way to disrupt your everyday so that you might appreciate the beauty and vitality of that moment.

 

 

Photo by Jori Ketten. Dance Exchange artists Matthew Cumbie, Sarah Levitt, and Shula Strassfeld (in order) in Cassie Meador's How To Lose a MountainMatthew 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: 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 is a Notochord?

by Lydia MFA Mondays

MFA right

 

 

 

Monday is no longer as blah with awesome insights into holding a Master of Fine Arts!

 

Here is another installment by MFA student, Angela Falcone. Enjoy!

 

 

What is a “notochord”?

imgres

A former Kilgore College Rangerette and friend of mine, Carla Rudiger, came to our somatics class at Texas Woman’s University to introduce us to Body Mind Centering.  This ninety-minute introductory workshop changed the way I think, feel, and know my body.  Carla’s first request (before meeting) was to read “The Place of Space” (Interview with Bonnie Bainbridge Cohen on the Embryological Embodiment of Space) by Nancy Stark Smith and Andrea Olsen.  Below is my reflection on the process of the class.

My experience with the Body Mind Centering class revealed how much I do not know about my own body.  One of the most basic principles of Body Mind Centering is this idea of “support precedes movement.”  With that, the class was structured into four sections: reading about the embryonic process (Smith and Olsen article), visualizing the embryonic process (from sperm to egg) on a sheet of paper, watching Carla’s embodiment of skeletal structures of the spine on a Pilates ball, and, finally, trying the embodiment ourselves.  In the skeletal structure, she revealed three layers of the spine: the notochord, the intermediate plates, and the lateral plates.  The notochord is the innermost part of the spine.  In more anatomical terms, the notochord is “a flexible rod-like structure that forms the main support of the body, from which the spinal column develops” (The Free Dictionary by Farflax).  As Carla began rolling on the Pilates ball, she placed her attention and focus on her notochord through visualization.  During this somatic practice, her movement shifted ever so slightly.  When Carla began to involve the other spinal structures (the intermediate and lateral plates), I could also see Carla’s movement becoming fuller and richer.  I wanted so badly to embody this quality.

imgres-1

This vulnerable demonstration opened my eyes to the importance of my own support system.  Her embodiment of the movement began with her deepest form of support, her spine and even more specifically her notochord.  Unlike most of my fellow classmates, I, personally, became less familiar with my connection the deeper we brought our attention to the notochord. (Perhaps this unfamiliarity stems from my training and upbringing, which lacks somatic practice in general.)  What I find ironic is the notochord layer is the most basic, deepest level of your body, but I quickly discovered that I am unable to embody this layer at this point in my life.  As Carla began taking us through more exercises, I found a lessened connection to my body. Which, frankly, scared me.  I began to tear up in class as I questioned my own support system, which then made me question my movement patterns.  I finally asked myself…have I been “faking it” my whole life?  If we choose to bring our attention and focus to our innermost layer of being, I believe our dancing can reflect that intellectual and physical connection.

All things considered, I am completely intrigued by this Body Mind Centering approach and want to take it a step further.  My future ambition is to begin taking classes this summer at Dallas Yoga Center to develop my own practice so that I may inform other dancers about this approach to embodiment.  I truly believe educators can begin at the core of the body (literally) to develop a more somatic approach for young dancers as well.  Let’s all jump on the bandwagon and preach finding the notochord!

For more information about Body Mind Centering, check out the website at www.bodymindcentering.com.

————————-

 

Falcone1

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

 

Confessions of an MFA: Day 3 – Thriller, Breakdowns, and Gingerbread Lattes

 

I read once that it takes the average person four months before they feel at home after moving into a new house or apartment.  I remember thinking how long that seemed.  I’ve always been someone who, once the boxes are unpacked, I feel like I am at home.  Perhaps it’s my lack of sentiment, or perhaps it’s my obsession with unpacking just overwhelms any other feelings I might have, but even in this last move, crossing over state lines, the house felt like ours right away.  Now, the city, that was a different story, but at least at the house, I felt like I was at home.

This past week was one of those weeks – the kind where, by Thursday, you get home from your day and just sit down in the middle of the hallway because the couch is just too far away.  Between my car breaking down on the freeway and my students practically vibrating from all of the Halloween candy, it felt like nothing could go right.  Yet, each night I got home, I felt great.  In fact, I felt better than I’ve felt since getting to Denver.

Of course, this made me feel stressed out.  Completely counterintuitive, I know – I was so baffled as to why I was feeling great when I was in the middle of the week that wouldn’t end that I felt like, of course, I had to be missing something.  What was wrong with me?  Was I a masochist?  Am I just completely motivated by stress?  Had I finally crossed over to the other side of crazy?  And then it struck me – it all felt so normal.  For the first time since moving, I felt normal.

Now, I think we can all agree that dancer normal is just not the same as other people’s normal.  Our sense of a typical day is just different than others.  Our weeks are filled with surprises: walking into your performance space to find it’s actually a circular stage ; giving a lecture about how we go to the bathroom before dance class only to have one of your students wet his or her pants halfway through barre; having a costume tear moments before going onstage and desperately hunting for safety pins, tape, glue, anything that will hold the seam together.  Our days are unpredictable, and I have come to rely on those surprises as my norm.

What I realized this week is that it’s not adjusting to my new schedule that has made me so uneasy the past few months.  Rather, it’s been my lack of confidence that I can handle all of the surprises that come along in my week.  But this past week, I had answers.  I knew my local mechanic where I could send my car.  I knew that I had the freedom to give up on trying to teach my classes on Halloween and just put on Thriller.  I even knew which coffee shop I could go to for a pick-me-up gingerbread latte.  And having those answers made me feel normal again – that I was having a typical week once again.

It’s this confidence that I’ve been missing in my new home.  Having to use a map to find the nearest Target, I felt like a visitor, and visitors don’t have answers to solve the everyday problems that arise in a new place.  But, when I woke up Friday morning of this crazy week, I felt comfortable.  I felt like I was at home. I looked at the calendar this morning and realized we have been living in our new city for exactly four months and two days.  I guess that study had some merit after all.

 

HeadShot2012Mary 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: 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 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! 

——————————

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

               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!

 

 

397136_10100231328148394_276944621_n

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.