Recommended, Not Required
Doris Humphrey was a dancer, choreographer, and teacher who was prominently known for being one of the leading voices in reshaping the modern dance form as we know it. She was famous for rejecting the status quo of what everyone believed stage/concert dance had to be and explored creative freedom as well as technique to truly embody the beauty and virtuosity of the art form. In her autobiography and choreography guide The Art of Making Dances, the renowned choreographer dedicates the second to last chapter of her guidebook to a checklist of things to look over as one creates a choreography. Humphrey lists various pieces of advice mentioned throughout her book on symmetry, dimensionality, audience perception, etc. and provides a brief summary of each of them. For a budding choreographer, it provides lots of challenges to break any comfortable habits and explore undiscovered areas of the art. I personally found many of her bits of advice helpful and agreed with most of them, but had to remind myself often that I shouldn’t be “offended” if I ended up doing anything Humphrey specifically said not to do. Every artists’ process is meant to be unique and these guidelines are checklists of ideas meant to provoke creative ideas, not a red tape an artist cannot cross to create a piece of art.
Humphrey first starts the list with her view on symmetry: it’s good for stability and beginnings/resolutions but is ultimately lifeless. This was an interesting take for me because I always found symmetry to be actually quite difficult to achieve and something I strived to channel in my body as a dancer. The human body is not exactly symmetrical to begin with so to explore this internal mirror image can be a fascinating journey reflecting order. I do, however, understand the dullness that can stem from the overuse of symmetry—the predictability can make the choreography less interesting and gives the audience no reason to expect anything new from the artist. As Humphrey says, the choreography would be “naïve and unimaginative” as the dance goes on and on in an easily expected path from one movement to another (160). It is true that this can be used to establish a sense of comfort onto the audience then break it suddenly to leave a strong impact with contrast, but then the contrast becomes the focus of the piece rather than the monotony of symmetry established previously. Although perfect alignment is visually pleasing and can be a good topic of exploration, it’s not a useful tool to keep the audience engaged from start to finish of a choreographic piece.
Her second advice addresses dimensionality: two-dimensional design is lifeless. I agreed with this checklist item wholeheartedly in light of my previous dance training experience. No matter how simple a choreography or dance piece was, there was always a “z-axis” in addition to the basic 2-D space of movement. Similar to symmetric movement, linear space can “provide a welcome contrast” when used accordingly, but does not hold much choreographic strength on its own (160). Forward, backward, left, right, up, down, are simply the building blocks one can combine to travel in all kinds of directions and as artists it’s vital we keep venturing into those paths as well as the comfortable ones. I enjoyed Humphrey’s connection to Egyptian hieroglyphs and Greek vases as examples of stylized two-dimensional art because it added a helpful reference to when linear space works and how it has different effects in different art mediums. I personally believe all artists shouldn’t restrict themselves to one art form and being able to explore what makes each of them unique is a valuable thought for research.
Humphrey’s next statement seems almost scientific: the eye is faster than the ear. She bases this claim with the assertion that the eye is a “more valuable informer about our environment [and] is exercised more”, which from my personal experience isn’t necessarily apply in all fields but does ring true in dance (161). In my scientific studies and exploration of my personal faith, I’ve come to realize that the world is far beyond what my eyes tell me are seeing and my sight is almost deceptive in how much information I’m actually processing. Every time I take a step, invisible gravitational forces keep me from floating out into space and countless chemical compounds provide the energy for me to carry out the action. Still, when I view dance, visual aesthetics are definitely more accounted for than what I hear in the music, rhythm, body percussion, etc. Just how synchronized members of a dance team are to each other or how engaged the dancer is to their movement is more significant than how coordinated the performer(s) are to the background music or any sound around them. The eye is a limited but definitely important tool to help understand the complexities of what makes dance truly beautiful and pleasing to look at.
The next piece of advice was something I had heard countless times while preparing for performances in my previous dance team: movement looks slower and weaker on the stage. As I read this section of her checklist, I began to realize just how much this idea has influenced my style of dancing for my entire career. People have always commented on how “energetic” and “powerful” my moves are up on stage, but whenever I watched rehearsal videos of myself I always thought I looked “a little too fast, too sharp, too big, too aggressive” (162). I then realized that I was channeling the stage performance training I’ve received because on stage, all my energy was significantly dampened. This discovery motivated me to test the limits of how much power I can add to my movements without losing control over it. Subtle movements always worry me because they may not be visible at all on stage and lose all its impact and focused intensity no matter how complex and sophisticated they may be. Depending on what kind of setting I’m in I will vary the size and speed of my movements to better fit the stage space I’m working with. Still, it was a pleasant feeling that my discovery of movement qualities and the stage was not exclusive to just my experience and was an understood concept from the early modern age of dance.
The idea that “all dances are too long” was a strange concept that I had to wrestle with in my head for a while and am still mulling over (162). Because my experience on stage has always been a collection of different songs with different choreographies or a musical that has a narrative thread in between dances, it never occurred that a work can feel long or stretched out since all dances’ lengths were controlled by the songs. But when a choreography is allowed to be as long as the choreographer’s imagination allows it to be, I can see how this can be a problem for those overflowing with ideas to share into the world. I think this advice can apply to me best in helping me determine how much “moves” I can fit into a choreography. This relates to my fear of not having “enough” movement in a choreography when stillness and silence are perfectly viable options and inspired my goal of being able to portray a message with as few motions as possible. I truly want to make my work “a richer mixture” with a strong message, not a long one (162).
Doris Humphrey’s mention that “a good ending is forty percent of the dance” left a strong impression on me because the ending of a choreography is not what I usually worry about until I reach the end of the process (162). This will be elaborated more on the “Don’t leave the ending to the end” section, but the importance of the final moment is something I’ve been fascinated about since my early dance days. There was almost a running joke in my high school dance team that we always incorporate a bow into the last eight-count of a choreography to finish it off and that became my most comfortable way of ending my dances. I’ve also performed very flashy endings in musicals with streamers flying behind me and the crowd going crazy as my teammates breath heavily, holding our final pose. As we’ve been exploring various modern dancers and different types of performances, I want to explore different ways of having the audience “be refreshed and stimulated enough so that [they…] can break into the release of physical action” (163). Unless the intention is to leave the audience uncomfortable and itching for more, I want to offer that cool release of tension and leave the viewers satisfied about viewing my performance.
When Humphrey advices choreographers to “enlarge his personal range” and “use and understand attitudes and timings quite foreign to his natural inclination”, that really challenged me to go beyond my comfort zone because I had my own strengths and characteristics of movement that defined me as a dancer for almost my entire life (163). I have my natural desire to make emphasized movements with sharp staccatos and am always feeling for the hard down-beats of the music I’m listening to. As exciting are those movements are for me, I understand how watching that over and over again can become overwhelming and tiring to watch after a while. There have been attempts to blend in smoother, flowy movements into my delicious movement explorations as contrasts, but they always seem to end with a hit with some part of my body. The escape from every monotony is what I’m trying to achieve with my dance and I want to be able to offer that freedom to the audience as well. However, I have to disagree with Humphrey calling the area in between fast and slow tempo “the deadly middle” because balance and harmony between two extremities can be very pleasing to watch and is a fascinating region to explore as a choreographer (163). Watching a dancer walk that line between the two extremities of speed keeps the audience in anticipation and wonder as they may fall into either territory in an instant.
Another personal “call-out” for me was the point to not be “a slave to, or a mutilator of, the music” (163). This was especially challenging advice to follow because of my background as a music-based dancer who performs along to choreographies specifically meant for a song. The movements I follow are to be done at timing guided by the music and Humphrey calling it being “enslaved” to the music seemed too harsh. I also, however, understand that there is a difference in the time period between her era of music and mine, with whole new genres of music that didn’t exist in her time. As a musician, I love moving along to the sounds that accompany me, but even if it’s not something that I’m particularly interested in, the different choreographic studies we’ve explored in class were insightful in teaching me some independence from music. Also, I like how she mentioned respecting the music piece as well, condemning “arbitrary cutting and juggling of parts to suit [the choreographer’s] own convenience” (164). I definitely agree with this aspect because especially with cultural appropriation such a big topic in the field of dance, it’s always imperative to understand what music you’re using to suit your needs. Some songs may have deep personal lyrics attached to them, or some melody/sound qualities may be an essential part of a foreign culture that needs to be respected. Maintaining that balance of having control over the music and also letting the music guide you are delicate processes and I always want to be aware of who really holds the steering wheel of this dance.
One of the last items on this checklist, “Listen to qualified advice; don’t be arrogant”, was an idea I thought was obvious but did provoke a thought about how other people influence my choreographies (164). I’ve always been surrounded by performers who have more experience than I do in various fields of dance so I never truly felt like I had learned everything and was ever in a position to ignore a piece of advice from anyone. This advice actually went in the opposite direction for me because it encouraged me to learn to “stand my ground” with some of my choreography and be unafraid to let my choreography be fully mine. If anything, I want to embrace the idea that “independence and conviction are glorious qualities” and I don’t necessarily have to listen to all the voices around me (165). Ironically, this means that I may not have to listen to this advice and go ahead to be influenced even more by the dancers and choreographers around me. Similar to the previous idea, finding that balance of my own voice as well as words of wisdom from those more experienced than I am is a constant battle and journey I’ll never truly be finished with.
Humphrey’s advice to “motivate movement” and not “intellectualize” it was one I found rather ironic, almost hypocritical. Her entire book was basically a study of dance theory and a deep dive into what qualities of movements made them rich and interesting to watch and how a choreographer can achieve different goals with various variables of dance. She claims that “an intellectual approach” is “central and not peripheral” and “out of place in an art which has […] movement of the human body” (165). This was actually the train of thought I had when I first approached dance theory—that overanalyzing dance and movement sucked the soul out of the art and reduced it down to jargon and research papers. But as I explored more of this field of study, it became clearer than having a critical thinking process through the choreographing process does not take away anything from the experience but only adds to it. When we understand the why and how behind everything we do, there’s clear intentions and purpose supporting our vision for the choreography. Human beings, which means including dancers, are complex creatures with both emotions and logic driving them and to exclude one side of it is to exclude a natural part of the human identity.
The last piece of thought Humphrey includes in her checklist is: “Don’t leave the ending to the end”—which is, maybe purposefully, placed at the end (165). As mentioned briefly before in my reflection of her sixth advice (“A good ending is forty percent of the dance”), this one felt like she was directly targeting me with these words. I did totally agree with the fact that I struggle with the “lack of time” and “ending[s] that seem perfect in the mind but […] not right in practice” (165). I like to just make my choreography with “the flow” and let my body be led by whatever motivates me at that point in time. This paragraph challenged me to think about my ending for my final project and made me ask: ‘what if I decided my ending before I get there?’ My mind starting traveling in many directions as I pondered such possibilities as a cool flashy move, being found after being lost, small and composed movements, etc. Not leaving the ending to the end gave me an opportunity to practice foresight on my choreography and be a better planner of movement in a given amount of time. The ending is most likely what the audience will leave the performance with and I definitely do not want to leave that to mere chance or half-hearted thoughts because I ran out of time. Challenging myself to think ahead and be proactive in my timeline of dance-making was one of the most solid pieces of my advice I’ve received as a choreographer.
My reaction to all of these different pieces of advice can be summarized in my reflection of her advice of listening to qualified voices: I won’t ignore their wisdom and helpfulness but I also won’t let them define who I am as a dancer and a choreographer. Doris Humphrey was a revolutionary choreographer who pushed the boundaries of modern dance, but the time period has changed and my goals as a performer are not necessarily the same as hers. She herself didn’t want to be chained down by restrictive rules of dance before and wanted to break out of conventional norms of what dance can or cannot be. Individuality is important as a dancer for me and I want the courage and confidence to convey “thank you, but no” to ideas that do not bring me joy. These guidelines will allow me to grow continually as a performer and will always be for me recommended, but not required.
Work Cited
Humphrey, Doris, and Barbara Pollack. The Art of Making Dances. Dance Books, 1997.
