by John Borstel“So are you a dancer?”
I hear the question a lot, usually when I’m out at meetings or presentations wearing my hat as a member the Liz Lerman Dance Exchange administrative staff. And who wouldn’t be flattered by a question like that? But once I’m finished blushing I have to deal with actually answering -- which presents numerous challenges, including the questions of how to define “dancer” and what it means to “be” anything, at a personal, spiritual, or vocational level. Over time, though, I’ve evolved an answer with which I’m reasonably satisfied. It has three parts.
First part: “Everyone’s a dancer.” I say this with conviction -- just as I would also say that everyone can draw, everyone can sing, or that everyone is a storyteller. I really believe that the artist is in-born within each of us. Educational and cultural systems in our society, unfortunately, seem more geared to teaching people (usually by adolescence) that they can’t do these things, rather than to nurturing our innate capacities for these expressive and functional acts. Dance may be the most primal of them. After all, we’re already doing it when we’re in the womb.
Second part: “So yes, I am a dancer.” And it’s true. I dance when I grind the coffee (a great time to practice hip isolations), I dance when I talk (mostly unconsciously, I have to admit, though video has made it abundantly clear how effusively gestural I am once I get going), and, yes, I will dance at your wedding (especially if the DJ spins “The Locomotion”). More to the point, I have danced in structured, intentional ways that have made a difference in my life. I have danced to meet people, to find a cultural bridge, to manage and understand emotions, and to organize ideas. I’ve danced because the music is so beautiful or the idea is so big that I have to take it into my body. I have taken dance classes and they have changed my life. Not by setting me on a path as a performer, but by retuning the engine of my body/mind/spirit vehicle in decisive ways. So yes, I am a dancer, and I believe I am a better person for being a dancer.
Third part: “But when I say that I’m a dancer, please don’t think for a minute that I’m comparing myself to those who make a vocation of dance.” Don’t think that I’m likening myself to the performers, creators, and teachers of dance, people who have channeled their gifts through training and devotion toward the diverse movement disciplines. Unlike me, they have the ability to take dance beyond themselves and impart its extraordinary power to their fellow human beings. They hold unique knowledge because they are dancers, and most of them are zealous about finding ways to share that knowledge with others. Usually I illustrate my point by describing particular dancers I know and the wondrous attributes they have: their utter honesty in performance; their striking ability to think in three dimensions and to grasp both linear time and the non-linear coexistence of ideas; the deep insight into the human condition that they have gained through their informed perception of bodies and their interactions; their gifts for teaching all kinds of information and building all kinds of community connections by getting people to engage the power of their bodies; their capacity to delight, startle, enlighten, touch the heart and ask excellent questions. I could go on and on. People who make dance the focus of their lives contribute so much to our society, and contribute even more when the power of what they hold as dancers is recognized by society – a recognition that we, as a field, need to continue working on.
So yes, I am a dancer. Everyone is. And those who (unlike me) practice dance as a life’s calling have extraordinary ideas, insights, and experiences to offer to society at almost every level.
Simple question. Simple answer.
John Borstel is Humanities Director for Liz Lerman Dance Exchange, where he as been part of the staff since 1993.
Brilliant. Thank you.
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