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“DANCE LIKE NO ONE’S WATCHING.”
Mark Twain
Crafting Stories Through Choreography
In 2024, two theatrical experiences left an indelible mark on my creative soul. Witnessing Sufjan Stevens' Illinoise come to life with Justin Peck's liquid choreography was akin to being swept away by a lyrically emotional tide—each movement a whisper of love, poetry, and fluid movement. In stark contrast yet equal in impact, The Outsiders featured a fight sequence choreographed by Rick and Jeff Kuperman that was a breath-stealing cacophony of movements and raw teenage angst. It was bold, staccato, and assaultive, clearly telling its story with a booming cry.
Both pieces exemplified how choreography can transcend mere movement and precisely tell stories that resonate powerfully and deeply with audiences. In both shows, dance was the element that wove the fabric of the entire production. It wasn't just about individual numbers; dance told the story.
The Organic Origins
The first time I was faced with pages of music that needed to be choreographed, I was terrified. There were so many beats with no pre-determined physicality. How would I ever add movement to all that music? I knew I felt the rhythm of the music, could make up steps, and could tell a story, but…the vast, empty, and open space was intimidating. An opportunity and challenge, yes. Scary, also, yes.
That all changed in my early 30s when I noticed a feeling in the pit of my stomach. It was as if a shape was emerging from my belly. If I stayed with that feeling, I could tap into it, and it always turned into body movement. This visceral connection to the music and the story became my guide into the organic essence of the dances I would eventually imagine. It was a transformational moment in my creative journey, a turning point that allowed me to trust my instincts and let my body express a story uniquely my own.
This revelation taught me to trust my creative instincts and to allow my body to express a story uniquely my own. What was once a daunting and exhausting task became profound. It became a spiritual experience as I came to rely on and own my creativity.
“FIND THE RIVER AND SAY YES TO THE FLOW.”
Julia Cameron
Admittedly, I am still a little frightened when faced with a blank canvas, but I know that if I trust my gut, eventually, my body will follow, and something personal and unique will occur.
The Process
The first thing I do is imagine myself merging with the material. I read and reread the script and listen to the songs and orchestrations repeatedly. I do everything I can to feel the story, to become one with the show, and inevitably, the interior shapes become physical movement.
The steps often come to me in unexpected places, like when I'm in the shower or walking the dog. Suddenly, my legs and arms will begin to form shapes that meld with rhythm. When this happens, I am always amazed and grateful. I've often thought, might this be the winds of heaven blowing me about?
“LET THE WINDS OF HEAVEN DANCE BETWEEN YOU.”
Khalil Gibran
Nuts and Bolts
Once the steps start flowing, I begin to define movement that reflects each character's unique personality and role in the story. I ask questions like whether a character should move gracefully, gently, or loudly and percussively. Maybe the percussive character should tap dance?
The next step is to think about dance throughout the entire piece. How can dance enhance the forward thrust of the entire show? What should each number do? Do they need to be simple and touching or big and splashy? What are the characters saying?
About three weeks before rehearsals begin, an intricate process of mapping out steps on graph paper using my own notation system of stick figures and counts of 8 follows. Eventually, a complete piece of choreography emerges.
Then I get into a studio (mostly alone but often with a dance arranger and an assistant, although I still prefer to be alone.) to make sure I like the shape of the entire number. Sometimes, it just flows, and sometimes, it takes hours, but I always rely on my inner muse, who lives in the pit of my soul.
When I am sure of the shape of a number, I am ready for the cast. At this point, I no longer worry about every last detail. I know the dancers will inform and collaborate on creating an even better vision.
Adapting to New Bodies and Collaborative Refinement
Finally, rehearsals begin, and I transfer my thoughts to the dancers. At last, I can see how these imagined shapes translate into physical form. When these new bodies express the ideas I hoped the steps would express it's fantastic. But there is always space for the art of constant improvement. Refining every gesture by asking, does this say what it needs to say? Is it inviting an emotional response? Is it naturally flowing?
And then something magical happens.
The Transformation from Rehearsal to Performance
I am always jumpy at the final dress rehearsal but once there is an audience, that’s when the real magic happens. The dancers come alive, inspired by the thought of communicating with a live audience. It's as if their bodies become vessels of storytelling, breathing life into the choreography and inspiring all who witness their transformation. This is the magic of dance, a transformative power that connects us all.
“THE ARTIST NEVER ENTIRELY KNOWS. WE GUESS. WE MAY BE WRONG, BUT WE TAKE LEAP AFTER LEAP IN THE DARK.”
Agnes DeMille
One of my greatest joys is coming up with a dance sequence that feels daring and seeing an audience enthusiastically respond to it. That happened in White Christmas where I turned a traditional step upside down. I came up with a variation on a series of repeated trenches that could have flopped but turned into the most exciting moment in the number. It often stopped the show. I loved it. It was thrilling, and the feeling never got old.
Ah, there’s the moral again, always trust your instincts and don't be afraid to take risks in your creative journey. You never know where it might lead you! The joy of taking a leap into the unknown, of creating something daring and seeing it resonate with the audience, is an exhilarating experience that never gets old.
The Magic of Dance in Storytelling
Dance is a universal language that transcends barriers and connects people across cultures and backgrounds. In theater, it's an essential tool for storytelling. When words fail, movement can take over, conveying emotions, conflicts, and resolutions with grace and power. It's a medium that invites audiences to connect profoundly with the characters and themes, making us all part of a global community of art and expression. It's a language we all speak, a bond that unites us in our shared love for the arts.
Until next time, I'll see you at the theatre.
