March 2020 - September 2021

18 months of staying safe, curious, creative and connected 

"Bathed in sunlight, and with fresh morning air drifting in through the slightly ajar glass door, she begins to move.  Eyes closed, feet in grounded contact with the floor, and accompanied by the seven-day walking music, slowly and rhythmically her fingers begin to disturb, and play, the air.  Over time, the focus of this improvised somatic solo, moves from her hands to different points of her musculoskeletal system; a rib, elbow, vertebra, tail bone, hip bone, occipital bone, chin.  Each awakened to explore pathways in and through space.  This action produces kinesthetic feedback in which she can lose herself.  This is a place of well-being; of homeostasis.’

 

These words are drawn from pages of reflective writing produced over a 365 day period.  As a means through which to document raw thoughts, emotions, conversations and observations, this act helped me navigate the last year of life.  The reason for sharing this section is, I think, related to loss and gain, damage and achievement, cost and value, grief and wellbeing, and a deep understanding that whether creating, teaching or participating, it is through my dancing body I make sense of the world.  The extract, reflecting on working in my makeshift sitting room dance studio, was written 28 days after leaving the headquarters of the Royal Academy of Dance.  Mindful of all that was unfolding across the world, I had cycled across a deserted London not knowing when I would return.  This article draws from further extracts of that writing.  Focusing on the time between days 157 and 365, where following the declaration of lockdown number three, I returned to teach at RAD HQ.  My hope is that these words connect, and unite those who read them, because I’m sure some of this is your story too. 

This photograph could have been taken at any point during my career as a dancer and dance educator.  But it wasn’t.  It was taken on 22^nd September 2020, following the longest period during which I had not set foot in a dedicate dance studio, probably since my first ballet class aged five.  There I am, and whilst the studio looks the same as when last there, nothing is the same.  Obscured by the reflection of the overhead lights, are the markings of the floor tape which delineates the teaching corridor from which I cannot stray, and the area in which each student is permitted to dance.  Concealed from view is a television screen through which a different student bubble will attend class, and the windows propped open to allow air flow.  Furthermore, as I sit waiting to deliver the first ‘hybrid’ technique class of my teaching career, little did I know the impact compulsory face coverings would have on my ability to synchronously demonstrate, explain, and breathe.

 

Taking this picture had been a spur of the moment decision, wanting to capturing the significance of the moment.  In the image I see the positions of each foot as reflective of the dialogue of my inner head demons.  The left foot, in conversation with the right, comments on the anxiety of returning to the studio which resulted in little sleep the previous night.  The right, convinced that all teaching ability will have vanished, poses questions about how to ‘read the rooms’ when engaged in hybrid teaching practice.  Both contemplate the challenge of designing training exercises, enchaînements and sequences for such a multitude of diverse teaching and learning spaces and contexts.  Both unite in feeling they are about to go on stage to perform a show for which they cannot rehearse.  Moreover, the picture is a conduit through which I am placed back in the immediacy of the moment, and connected to the physical, cognitive, and emotional journey of the 156 days since I was last in this same studio. 

 

I am reminded how, on entering that empty studio, the presence of dancers past, and movement memories of classes taught, echoed through the space.  I recall the joy in being able to put on some music, lay stretched out on the floor to warm up without the worry of rolling on my cat.  I recollect the energy and enthusiasm of the students as they entered the studio, able to dance together in a place other than their bedroom or living room space.  The buzz infectious.  The icing on the cake; a live musician.  Yes teaching in a face covering meant getting out of breath more quickly.  Finding the right angle at which to demonstrate for those on Zoom was trial an error.  Seeing in detail, the work of 22 on screen dancing images, an impossibility.  But it was a privilege to have the opportunity to rediscover aspects of my dancing self which had been buried for 6 months.  To once again be able to swing and roll and catch and fall and suspend and rotate and turn and wiggle and pulse and plié and tendu and fondu on a 3/4 , 4/4, 6/8 2/4, with other dancers in the same physical space, was liberating, cleansing, and healing.  

 

Notwithstanding this initial physical euphoria, by week two of studio based teaching under Covid guidelines, misgivings about my ability to navigate this ‘new’ familiar began to surface.   Arriving home after a fifteen hour day, I had barely enough energy to feed my cats before running a hot bath.  Hauling myself from the therapeutic water to lay back in bed the voices in my head were adamant, I was past it, I should retire my dance shoes and hand over to the younger generation.  Pre Covid, 6 continuous hours in the studio would never have left me feeling like this so what, I asked myself, was going on to leave me feeling so physically, mentally and emotionally spent?

 

Of course, for each and every one of us the entrained rhythm and tempo of our daily lives were constantly shifting.  A personal example of this pertains to my daily commute the rhythm of which, pre-pandemic, had been precise and honed.  The most efficient routes from trains to platforms had been calculated.  I knew exactly where to situate myself for the quickest exit from the underground, and understood the timing of the traffic lights as I cycled from station to destination.  The muscle memory such that, time wise, there was little ‘fat on the bone.’  Now, whilst components of my new commute remained the same, the absence of fellow passengers draws attention to that invisible traveller of whom we are all anxious.  As such, at every turn, each section requires adjustment, resulting in a journey that is longer, harder, and more hazardous.  Likewise, whether in the physical or virtual studio, the challenges aligned to the adjustments required when teaching dance almost hide in plain sight.  The dance content, which over the years has become a trusted partner in the duet of ‘delivery,’ appears unchanged.  However the pedagogy underpinning the delivery of a class  is now less nuanced.  The choice of teaching tools and strategies has been reduced.  This in turn impacts on the content to be delivered.  As a result, the art and science of teaching is accompanied not only by the sound of music, but the thought processes of Schön’s reflective model in overdrive.  On a moment by moment basis the creating and learning of new choreographies of every facet of my life, is being played out.  No wonder I am tired! 

 

Fast forward to day three hundred.  The nation is in lockdown three.  I am in my sitting room dance studio delivering a guided choreography session, via my mobile phone.  The session, a live broadcast by BBC Radio London is part of the stations ‘Schools Out’ feature.  The aim: to engage listeners in a creative, physical activity at the end of a day of emergency home-schooling.  As I work, I have an out of body experience seeing myself dancing my own version of the guided choreography, whilst simultaneously holding a phone to my ear to provide imagery, actions, tempo, rhythm and dynamics to the listeners.  As a facilitative act of entertainment, I am encouraging millions of people I cannot see, to create a dance piece which they imagine they are performing to thousands of people.  The presenter participates whilst synchronously reading out encouraging and appreciative tweets and emails coming in from listeners as they enthusiastically get creative.  As all this happens, the voice in my head is asking; how did we get here? How did we arrive at dance being taught on the radio, from a sitting room, by mobile phone, via Broadcasting House London. Correspondingly I see a 14 year old dancer as she walks up the steps of a vocational school for which she is auditioning.   Could that young dancer have ever imagined such a scenario?  Furthermore, how would that vocational training have prepared her for such a moment? 

 

I would suggest intrinsic to addressing these questions is recognition of how digital technology has revolutionised how we live and communicate, and acknowledgment of the importance for individuality and creativity to be nurtured through life-long learning. Furthermore, In looking to summarise key factors and features of what has taken place during this 365 day period, technology and the ability to be creative takes centre stage. 

 

Such endeavour is captured through the events of one particular morning whilst preparing to deliver a practical choreography lecture via Zoom, again from my sitting room.  As I connected computer to SMART TV for dual monitor capability, my Facetime ap. chimed into action.  The image transmitted to the screen of a colleague on site at RAD HQ.  Also engaged in setting up to deliver a choreography lecture to a different group of students, she was experiencing technical issues in setting up for hybrid delivery.  Isolated in the studio she turned immediately to a different technological interface to seek help.  Able to talk her through the reconnection of cables and the rebooting of microphones and the input source, we utilised the craft and form of technology to enable the session to begin on time.

 

As I bid farewell to my colleague and welcomed students into my own home dance studio, I was mindful of the phrase ‘keep swimming,’ which had been said to me as motivational feedback some years previously.  Evoking the image of the ‘Swan” furious paddling beneath the surface whilst swimming gracefully across the surface of the water, I was mindful of the degree of paddling taking place in homes and work spaces across the globe.  As we looked to keep on swimming, we were similarly engaged in a process of finding innovative new ways to swim.  As such we should to talk about Zoom. 

 

I am fantastically appreciative of how, in the headlights of shock, fear, anxiety and disorientation, this platform provided a handrail to some degree of normality.  However ‘Zoom Fatigue,’ as a phrase, has slowly and surreptitiously infiltrated the lexicon of learning, teaching, business and life.  And I am sure researchers are already exploring the multidimensionality of this as a concept and reality.  For me, bound up in this phrase is the reality that whether at a desk, or in a studio space, all my work became screen dominant.  Driven by mouse and keyboard, the mute and video button, chat box, and open breakout rooms prompt, formed a partnership with right click, cut and paste, insert hyperlink, open, new document, and save.  As such, I wonder whether alongside the phrase ‘Zoom Fatigue,’ we should consider ‘The Stages of Zoom.’  The initial stage; gratitude, becomes coping, adapting and then managing.  From this an emerging sense of loss develops into frustration, which subsequently prompts reflection, whereby examining practices past and present produces both hope and fear.  Hope of time and space for periods of reflection which inform a new future.  Fear that the exhaustion which existed pre-covid, has been exacerbated to such an extent that, in reference to discussion in the domain of resilience, we will be bouncing back, not bouncing forward.  But, as a cup half full kind of person, I look to finish these musing by reconsidering how the experience of the last 365 days informs how I might bounce forward. 

 

Some experiences have been almost paralysing.  I absolutely mourn the loss of the physical studio space where dancers are the size of human beings.  I am ravenous for a sense of collective musicality, rather than the discombobulating effect of watching multiple dancers dancing ever so slightly out of synch with each other and the music you are hearing. 

I am eager to shed the compromise of observation where, against a back drop of lounge or bedroom furniture, sometimes the best you can do is scan for accuracy; have the students managed to transfer your demonstration onto their bodies, and adapt that material to fit their makeshift spaces? On feedback, given through the goldfish bowl of technology, I struggled to provide moments where individual feedback could be given quietly and intimately, away from the ears and eyes of others.  And finally on the mute button and the realisation that the act of questioning has a muting effect on the flow and rhythm of a session, as the student navigates moving to the screen, aligning a curser, and clicking to unmute, before offering their response.

 

However other experiences have been transformative, and interesting none more so than through taking on-line classes as a dancer.  I should be clear; these classes were not open classes, they were very much part of reconnecting with fellow founder members of a contemporary dance company with which I performed over a six year period in my 20’s.  What provides such clarity of understanding as to the significance of this experience is the juxtaposition of this reconnection with 4 women with whom I share such a deeply creative, physical, and emotional history, with teaching a group of students I have never been in a real studio with.   And this brings me back to the power of dance and understanding the world through my dancing body.  In my 20’s this company provided the foundations for how I would work whatever the direction of my dance career.  Intrinsic to this was creativity, exploration, pushing boundaries, being lost and found, and friendship.  From this came trust, and as we met across the band widths, some 30 years after we had last performed together, all that we shared was still very much alive in our older dancing bodies.   As such, yes I do mourn the loss of the physical studio.  However, if the current studio is situated somewhere in the ‘cloud,’ then my responsibility now is to foster dance experiences which will resonate with current students beyond the immediacy of Covid. 

 

Arriving at this point, and thinking back to my earlier question as to whether I should hang up my dancing shoes, I see that whilst I am aging, I am not getting old.  I might ache more at the end, or even start of a dancing day, but embracing the challenges of this new way of living and working has been about being alive.  There are new improvisational ‘rules’ of dancing, learning and teaching being discovered, learned and challenged.  New creative freedoms to be experienced, new journey’s to be had.  As such I remain, as Gillian Lynn would encourage, ‘nipples to fore,’ and always ready to turn the music up loud and dance like no-one is watching.

 

A final thought is dedicated to the impeccable timing of the ‘pet cameo.’  In a lockdown three zoom class, I am utilising the strategy of student demonstration.  As the spotlighted student starts to move, her cute, cuddly dog enters the space.  Seemingly oblivious to the on-line audience, he and places himself deliberately in her line of movement.  Pausing for what seems like comic effect, he then very deliberately rolls onto his back, puts his paws in the air and demands a tummy tickle.