I remember the feeling: pride, superiority, walking a little bit above the ground.
Having studied bellydance for a couple of years, having performed in parties and onstage, having learned choreographies, I no longer was a beginner: I indulged in calling myself a professional dancer or, at the very least, an advanced student.
But was I?
I was so eager to join the experts that I skipped the intermediate stage — the bridge one has to walk to go from the novice to the advanced level.
Turns out, I am not the only bellydancer who ever despised the intermediate level: I often recognize in others that eagerness to become a pro. Turns out, bellydance is not the only dance form where the intermediate level is missing: with very few exceptions, the dance schools I've observed over the years seem to have only two levels: "beginner" and "everything goes" (advertised under names such as "advanced beginner", "advanced," "open," etc.) In my journey I've noticed that even if some schools named a class "intermediate," it usually wasn't so. There seemed to be a gap, a gap that made things harder and less pleasurable for everybody.
Levels exist because, as you know, attending a class above your level can be intimidating, and because attending too basic a class can be boring. They exist because it's inefficient to interrupt an advanced class in order to explain a basic step to a student. And they exist because not explaining things in detail gives birth to sloppy dancers.
What does a level mean, anyway?
Let's begin from the beginning. To teach a proper basic beginner class, we need to place ourselves in the shoes of a person who has never danced before. We need to think of the most basic building blocks and go from there.
As Serena Wilson taught in her basic beginner level, that first layer is built with a conscious study of body positions. Serena's method has nine body positions and if you take a class at her studio, you will learn them; and if you open your eyes, you will begin to see how everything stems from them. She was a teacher of genius, indeed.
Next, in beginner level, we have moves, steps, poses, turns. These are single elements, like beads that later on will be strung into a necklace; like individual parts of a pattern that later on will be sown together to create a finished dress.
Logic tells us that our third level of learning consists of stringing together 2 elements. Not three, not four: Two elements. In my opinion, this is what intermediate level needs to be about: that magical and decisive component that distinguishes the good dancer from the mediocre one; that most important of skills that marks the difference between learning a choreography in a few hours and learning it in a few weeks (or not being able to learn it at all): good transitioning.
By "Good" I mean clear, purposeful, efficient, aesthetically pleasing, meaningful, fun transitioning.
"Bad" would mean a transition which is sloppy, uncertain, hard to remember, confusing, annoying, undesirable, uncoordinated, and just plain ugly.
When we as teachers and students skip a true study of the intermediate level (of basic transitions) we move directly from executing single, isolated moves to memorizing an entire choreography like parrots. For some students this is enough, and their bodies are able to assimilate intrinsic transitions this way. But for the vast majority this creates huge gaps that will interfere with efficient learning in higher levels.
Rejoice in the study of simple transitions. Cherish the idea of "intermediate" level. Stay curious and stay humble. Doing so will take you farther and to a happier place.
- Blanca
;)
Thursday, February 9, 2012 at 12:49PM ;)
Lola and the seeds of love.
