Saturday, December 15, 2012

Finding a Voice by Mary Susan Sinclair-Kuenning


      I cannot remember a time when I was not a dancer.  Even before the rigorous study of different techniques began, I never wanted to stop moving.  If there was a beat, then I was dancing to it.  How fortunate for me, then, that my mother recognized this need for movement and headed straight for the dance studio.  I began at five years old, and over twenty years later I’m still moving.
    Although I have studied classical technique extensively, it is not my roots.  Where my love for dance began, contrary to many of my peers, was not in ballet but in folk dance.  Scottish Highland dance to be exact — an athletic and competitive form of dance from Scotland full of leaps and jumps.  There is great precision required along with great strength, as many of the steps use complicated foot placements and intricate rhythms.  Unlike Irish step dancing, Scottish is turned out, and the arms are carried high over the head in positions that originated from ballet.  There is little margin for creativity in the steps; rather one is judged on technical proficiency and “line.” (Much like ballet or modern dance, the dancer strives for an aesthetically elongated line of the body, legs and arms.)  I spent fifteen years training, competing and performing all over the United States, Canada and Scotland.  This was the foundation that I built for the rest of my life through dance.  Dance defined me as a person and would continue to be my voice in the world.  
    In college I studied both theater and dance for my B.A., discovering a whole new medium of expression and movement through modern dance.  Unlike Scottish, modern required much more movement of the torso and a more three-dimensional movement plane.  I had to adjust to new concepts of what dance was.  Soon I discovered the technique of José Limon through the legendary dancer and my mentor, Clay Taliaferro.  The artistic voice of Limon spoke to me through his movement.  The dancers seemed at once to fly and then fall back to earth, bound by their earthly bodies.  The dance was ethereal and yet, so very human.  I moved to New York and began to study with the José Limon School, training extensively in the technique and performing several of his works.  After the program was complete, I took to auditioning for various companies and shows.  One audition notice which caught my attention was for the Mosaic Dance Theater Company, requesting Middle Eastern dancers or dancers who were based in folk dance.  I decided to attend the audition, even though I had never taken a Middle Eastern class before.  
    After the audition, as I began to study with the Company and learn this style of dance that was so different to me, I was enthralled with the array of colors and sounds, the jingling of the coined hip scarves, and the beautiful line of the veils.  But as a mover, I was interested in the earthiness of the dance.  Although I was comfortable with many of the more classical turns and positions, I was challenged by how grounded the steps were, and how there is both a sense of ease and intricacy in the hip movements.  At first my body felt confused; my hips never wanted to go the way they were supposed to; the veil got wrapped around my head, and I wondered how anyone could see where they were going.  But after months of patience and hard work, this dance has become another voice for me — one of feminine strength and ancient cultures, of beautifully intricate music and of the body as an instrument.  
    Dance transcends language barriers, continents and even time.  The more I dance, the more I realize that it has always been a profoundly human expression in the world, one that connects our spiritual selves to our physical bodies.  It is an honor to add my voice.               

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