Response
to Margo's poem about
so much more- I cannot speak for anyone else, female or male, who dances his own dance. This is how I feel: Fine, call me a belly dancer, but put a capital letter to it! I am a woman of European Heritage. Even though it feels like these movements have been in me forever, I have no cultural heritage to defend or worry about representing when I dance. I am what you see; I take no other name, I can make no pretence at authenticity, though I honour the wisdom and teaching of the traditions of those from whom I learn. I dance with respect for these cultures, their movements and techniques. They have awakened a response in me that has nothing to do with race or culture. Please do not patronise me with false modesties. I dance with joy and dignity. Call me a Belly dancer; after all, it’s what you came to see. Sharp and sensuous hips, arms—hypnotic or precise, the richly decorated costume of earthly delights may stir you, but it’s those sinuous torso moves that make me extraordinary! Ultimate, mesmerising control of muscle and form rippling in waves, descending in pops – these fascinate you and define me for you. Of course, that’s not all there is, and sometimes it’s never seen–but why should you know that? It is your box, not mine; I do not have to walk meekly into it. You may call me a Belly dancer; I know what I am. Out of all dance forms, that is what makes me unique. I proudly display, covered or free, that rounded chamber of womanhood. I am mystery made flesh demure or of awesome size. If I were a man, you would marvel at my skill, my toned muscles, my connection with my body. (Oh, boy! Who is a stereotyped sex object now?) Male or female, the dance is a primeval display of virility / fertility and power. I aspire to this control. It does not come easily. I do not want to show off, but to isolate, integrate, worship and play. I do not claim authenticity; I claim love, enchantment, challenge and joy. So call me a Belly dancer! My family shuffled awkwardly only at weddings, or attempted a couple of ballroom numbers at best. I grew up without an appreciation of any type of music–my cultural heritage or not–at home. I ‘ve channelled my energy, my desire to move, into the circumscription of ballet. Performing was “showing-off”. There was no sharing of dance histories or experiences, joining the generations at family get-togethers. My grandmother may have danced the Charleston, not because she approved or cultural appropriation, but simply because movement felt joyful and good! Thanks, for other rich traditions willingly shared, which have opened me personally and spiritually. Call me a Belly dancer; it’s a start. Art does not need an audience, but performers do. We can happily dance for ourselves, For friends, For family. However, does dancing for money cheapen professional dancers? Is their beauty and skill devalued by the use of one sticky little word, especially if it is not in their cultural background? They put their reputations and that of their dance on the line for love and money. Of course, we all worry about what people think. You and I can never control the thoughts in someone else’s head, the contexts of his associations with our dance. We can only give him something to take way in his heart. So when you call me a Belly dancer, remember: The term is a lable that focuses on so little but opens the windows of experience to so much! From the technically brilliant to the artistically limited, the audience responds to dancers when they show passion: inhabiting the dance, sensing the music, projecting their love. What you call me does not change the scared dedication of my dancing. I try to absorb and project the essence of original influences. My connection with the music, the audience and the Spirit tickles at the unconscious of the unaware. You may have come to see the exotic, erotic, gratuitous dancer, but what matters is what adjectives you have on your tongue for me when you leave. Call me the inspiring, amazing, unexpected Belly dancer! Have you named it Danse Oriental, Danse du Ventre, Raks Sharki, Arabic, Persian, Egyptian, Turkish, Greek, Balkan, Tribal, Fusion, holy, unholy, lewd, refined, Hollywood, or folkloric? Call me Belly dancer because it sends countless conflicting images spinning through your head. Call me what you will because it will not change the light in my eyes and my pleasure in moving in ancient echoes of all our pasts. So, call me Belly dancer, sit back, and watch with an open heart. Part Two While we are on the subject of calling names, here is a sister poem that this poem has stirred: Call me Xena; I am a strong fearless woman. Call me Salome; I was a dangerous child. Call me Jezebel, Xenobia, Cleopatra; I hear you calling me “powerful queen”. Call me Lilith, Isis, Ishtar; I honour the Divine in all things. Call me Scarlet Woman because you fear me when I bleed without dying! Call me Painted Woman–I only wear the glamour of beauty. Truth is on the inside. Call me any name you choose. You only link me to every woman who ever lived. Have
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letter! Ready
for more? 6-18-05
Belly Dancer of the Year
2005 Grand Dancer, more Duos, Trios & Troupes photos by
Monica
6-18-05 Gitaneria
Arabesca: A Different Approach to the Student Recital by Vashti, 6-5-05
Rakkasah West Festival
2005 Photos- Saturday & Sunday Page 2 photos by GS Staff
and Friends 6-3-05
Belly Dancer of the Year 2005
Page 1 Duos, Trios & Troupes photos by Monica |
