Martha Graham and Me

Words by Rachel Redfern. Photos by David Cowger

Creativity is a buzzword, we all want to be it, live it, embody it, but doing so seems intimidating; being creative means showcasing something that we’ve worked very hard on and then exposing it to the criticism of people we respect (and don’t respect for that matter). So despite the average person’s desire to extend themselves creatively, stepping outside of our comfort box is a little bit rare.

In 2012, Angie Hartley, choreographer and dancer, extended an invitation for dance enthusiasts to participate in a short modern dance piece at the next Gwangju Performance Project’s theater production, Ives Just Got to Dance. While I had been in a dance troupe for nine years as a kid, it was always lighthearted, easy jazz steps; I knew that Angie would require a more inventive and unique performance. When we arrived for our first practice, I expected Martha Graham; I was ready for Angie to walk me through a complicated routine of counterpoint, unbalanced harmonies, and graceful spins. Not so, Angie instructed us in one 8-count dance measure and promptly informed us that we would be actively involved in the design of the piece.

First, she asked us to put together a series of tableaus based around a central theme, “please don’t leave,” then instructed us to think of four, simple movements that could be construed of as an invitation—this was to be our dance.

Wait, what? Where was the fancy footwork that would show the world how athletically talented I was? The high kicks to demonstrate our absurd flexibility? The jazz hands? When I signed on for a creative project, I had expected it to be someone else’s creativity and my artistry; I was uncomfortable with the idea of choreographing this dance—I didn’t know anything about choreography, how could I make the dance (at least my part), engaging?

And then came the day of a dress rehearsal with the rest of the cast. Angie asked one of the dance performers to rush to the front of the stage during the last few seconds of the performance and pull up a random, but hopefully willing, audience member to take the final bow with us. Now, I consider myself to be a progressive sort of person. Obviously, not as much as I think I am, because this idea just felt like maybe it was taking things too far. I mean, I didn’t want to make an audience member to feel uncomfortable, and what if pulling them onstage did that? Despite my initial misgivings (an important step in any creative process I suppose), we rehearsed the dance with the rest of the cast a few more times that day. And then, someone, willing, able, laughing, jumped up into the audience, and blushing a bit, bowed with us.

Yes. There it was. It was unique! it was original! The title of the dance piece, May I Have This Dance suddenly made total sense to me, (yes, I know, I’m slightly dumb for not figuring it out sooner). The dance piece, the entire production for that matter, was about language and about communication, which was achieved during this performance. We had communicated something with a dance member: we were having a good time—they should join us. I realized what the intention had been for this dance piece, the audience should feel free and excited to partake in the creative environment that we had tried to create—everyone was a participant, the dancers and the audience.

The community of creativity is not always the singular, serious, terrifying place that we make it in our minds. It doesn’t have to be my creativity is better than yours, more groundbreaking, more sophisticated, and it certainly doesn’t have to be Martha Graham. Participation in any creative event should be a unique experience, whether the first of it’s kind, or just the first time we try it.

May I Have This Dance was an invitation to cross a few boundaries, be a little bold, and extend the opportunity to those in the audience; in short, it was creative.