a blog by Simon Ellis: dancer, choreographer, filmmaker and teacher
The value of practice gets discussed a lot in dance. I remember US choreographer Deborah Hay saying something like, “99% of my choreography is the practice of my choreography”, and practice in the context of practice-as-research is clearly fundamental.
But I wonder about this word value. And I wondered what it might be to practise it. To have a practice of value(s).
The value of practice.
The practice of value.
Part of the work I do as a dancer, choreographer and teacher involves running a Masters programme at the University of Roehampton that is called MRes Choreography and Performance. It is, as it says on the lid, a Masters by Research.
I’m skeptical about the word research in the arts; it feels like a buzz word or something that is used rather arbitrarily to project depth onto a project. At the same time, I have little time for the idea that the Academy owns quality in research. Here’s Donald Schon:
[There is] a radical separation of the world of the academy from the world of practice, according to which the academy holds a monopoly on research.
– Schön, cited in Brook 2012, p.4[1]
Nevertheless, there are circumstances in which artists deeply test the nature and role of the arts in culture. There is a sense of falling into the unknown, of seeking to understand the ways in which choreographic practice might skew or alter our perspective(s) on the ways we live, make and dance.
There are four students currently finishing the MRes Choreography and Performance and each of them – in very different ways – is attempting to ask and even address complex questions through the practice of choreography. I thought I’d advertise their work on this blog, and to kick things off, here’s a link to Hamish MacPherson’s ambitious, multi-limbed project that delves into politics, choreography and citizenship. It’s called All The Things That We Can Do:
I spend a lot of time talking to students and professional practitioners about the nature of practice, and the importance of finding a way to maintain daily practice. Indeed, if students are even half as bored of me talking about it as I am, then things aren’t good.
Since September I have been doing what could only be described as ticking things over in terms of a dance practice. I go into the studio early, dance very briefly (with no warm up) and then leave. It has felt unfocused, slap-dash, and I have no idea if it is of any value.
Late in September, I happened to select an Oblique Strategie[1] that said Distorting time. More than a worthwhile dilemma it has (very gently) been with me since that time, fading in and out of my attention.
Yesterday was my last day of practice until the New Year. I thought I’d video a couple of minutes to send to my friend Don Asker in Australia (he and I have been swapping videos of our solo dancing these last few months).
Here it is:
For all of that ticking over I’m starting to get a feeling for something that is interesting to me. It has something to do with the nature of surprise when feeling and watching simple dancing.
Back in January I watched this TEDx talk by Emma Rogan about 100-day projects (such a pleasure to hear her kiwi accent) based on the teaching work of Michael Beirut. I was really taken by the simplicity of the 100-day idea and of how it relates to the work I do with students to help them get started with the importance of daily work (aka a practice).
I thought I’d have a go, and yesterday was the end of what turned out to be a rather shambolic rambling-type experience. I got bored, excited, confused, and uncertain, but I didn’t skip a day. My project was taking an Italian[1] word of the day and then somehow illustrating (at times very loosely) the word with a photograph or sketch.
Doing the 100-day project certainly involved a certain amount of discipline, but the difficult part is creating a structure (or set of constraints) that are tight enough to make it playful and to perhaps give the project a particular character. I’m not sure I did this that well.
Just for the record, the photographs are here: flickr.com/photos/skellis/sets/72157633258793450/.
And for any of you interested in software, I kept the Italian words, example sentences and the images in journal software (that exports as text files if necessary) called Day One (that syncs across OSX and and iOS).
Now to start preparation for a 100-day project that is a little closer to my work as a dancer …
I’ve been writing quite a bit recently about practice as part of some preparation for a seminar I’m giving in Wolverhampton and Roehampton in March. Part of that writing (and reading) has been about questioning how useful the word is given its ubiquity in dance and performance. More on that soon, but for now here are some snippets from things I’ve been collecting.
When I’m in writing mode for a novel, I get up at four a.m. and work for five to six hours. In the afternoon, I run for ten kilometers or swim for fifteen hundred meters (or do both), then I read a bit and listen to some music. I go to bed at nine p.m. I keep to this routine every day without variation. The repetition itself becomes the important thing; it’s a form of mesmerism. I mesmerize myself to reach a deeper state of mind. But to hold to such repetition for so long—six months to a year—requires a good amount of mental and physical strength. In that sense, writing a long novel is like survival training. Physical strength is as necessary as artistic sensitivity.
— Murakami
http://www.theparisreview.org/interviews/2/the-art-of-fiction-no-182-haruki-murakami
What does practice look like for you?
Practice is writing even when you don’t have something to write.
http://chronicle.com/blogs/profhacker/what-does-practice-look-like-for-you/38247
On flow
Avoid Flow. Do What Does Not Come Easy.
On dance, art and things 