I literally grew up in the theatre. From an early age I participated in the dramatic arts, performed in plays and musicals and competed in dramatics contests, studied ballet, modern, jazz, tap, singing and acting, eventually going on to attain a BFA in Acting and an MFA in Directing. It seemed the deeper my theatrical vision developed, the more complicated the requirements of the show became, intricate costumes, lighting and scenery, video, slide projections, and always millions of props to haul around, in the service of communicating themes to an audience.

Six years ago, at a time when I needed to reconnect with the simple art of performing, rather than the artifice, I took a bellydance class. To say I was instantly hooked is putting it mildly, I was instantly obsessed. I was drawn to the music, especially the oud, and the movements, especially the shimmies, in a powerful, spiritual way.

In class, my heart felt open and connected. But I soon discovered that I was still surrounded by the artifice behind theatrical magic – eye liner, fake hair, safety pins, shiny fabric, and yes, lighting, setting, and props. Ever since theatre (and presumably dance) was performed in ancient Greece (if not long before), these trappings have created the bedazzling illusion that a god or goddess has descended upon the ground. Any first year theatre major knows about “cothurni”, enormous shoes the Greeks wore during performance to make themselves appear larger than life, godlike, immortal.

I continue to love our dance because it draws together the tawdry and theatrical with the ancient and divine. I am not bothered by this dichotomy, but it does fascinate me. I am like the early occult photographers, who at the turn of the last century used the newly found techniques of double exposure and superimposition to create visual “proof” of the supernatural. We are similarly involved in a deception, but we also share the desire for the deception to become the truth.

Growing up theatrical means believing in numerous “realities” of shows, stories, songs and dances. I began as a performer and moved to directing, then I returned to dance and moved to choreography. The progression from narrative theatre to dance seems natural to me. Although I dearly love words, I am also fascinated by what must be told, but cannot be said.

My theatrical work has always included stylized movement and dance to create lyric imagery that expresses archetypal experience without words. In creating dances, I am one step closer to the subconscious. Music and image evoke emotion, and place and character are suggested but not crystallized. I am currently incorporating narrative in the form of progression, a sense that each dance effects the one that comes after it, and the whole show travels through related but distinct emotional landscapes. But I have not yet incorporated concrete story, or spoken words. I am taking it one step at a time, trying to investigate the medium and let the impulse to expand its theatricality come from within, rather than imposing something from outside on the work.

The idea of dance (any style of dance) as theatre raises all sorts of questions. Dance is a hybrid of theatre and music. As in theatre, the performer’s body communicates in real time, as in music, rhythm and lyricism are emotionally and conceptually evocative without requiring linearity.

Should dance then be presented as music is presented, a “concert” of independent pieces performed one after another and only vaguely related to one another, or should it be a “performance”, where subsequent scenes add up to a comprehensible story or at least journey, that is discernable to the audience?

Both are valid ways to present dance, my current preoccupation as a director/choreographer surrounds the latter concept.

Here again we encounter another classic debate of contemporary theatre – what is the difference between a “play” with a real “story” and a “performance” that is less linear but uses many of the same theatrical elements as a “play”? We can see a similar comparison in dance between the stories of classical and modern “ballet” and the disjointed but meaningful adventures of “experimental dance”.

Applying this dance dialogue to our dance, we present ourselves with a significant set of questions, questions that choreographers must answer for themselves, hopefully consciously, as they make choices about their work. After answering questions about concert performance vs. theatrical performance, the question of character comes into play. Are the dancers playing characters who must be recognizable to the audience? How much relationship must we understand between these characters? Is there a narrative element and if so how much? How can dance and narrative intertwine and be effective? Should dance be linked to a theme or idea? And what other contemporary theatrical elements, such as projections, video, or sophisticated sound and lighting design elements, and the big one – spoken text, can enhance the art form?

As a graduate student in directing for theatre, I was constantly bombarded with questions like these. At the time this caused endless emotional trauma as I felt my work was under attack, but I understand now why my teachers demanded I articulate my reasons behind style, form, visual, aural and casting choices. Only when the creator understands the impact of each element on the stage does she begin to wield those elements with a sharp focus to create a richer, more evocative experience for the audience. I believe these are vital questions that choreographers should ask themselves. They are also the questions to ask ourselves about the work we see – not so that we can praise or dismiss a project, but so that we develop a working vocabulary for the dance worlds we are inventing, and expecting our dancers and our audiences to inhabit and understand.

Perhaps the most important question is about the inspiration, theme, or focus of the piece. What subjects or themes will mesh well with this dance?

In theatre, the conventional model is that the playwright works from inspiration and the director interprets. In many dance productions you could argue that the composer works from inspiration and the choreographer interprets. The modern American bellydance choreographer walks the line somewhere between inspiration and interpretation. Often she determines her vision first, then selects music that supports it, although sometimes she may hear a piece of music and be inspired to create a dance that that then dreams itself into the bodies of the dancers. There is a lot of ambiguity, and therefore a lot of freedom, in the current openness of theatrical bellydance.

How do choreographers find inspiration, and is the sky the limit? What themes lend themselves to our dance? There has been a history of Orientalist themed shows, which makes sense because the dance has an “other” quality and the Orientalist version of the origins of this dance as well as the non-Western “other” is ingrained in our cultural landscape.

Re-imaginings of this stereotype can be refreshing, profound and empowering. And then there are other “others” to explore, human, metaphorical, or psychological. The fusion trend has given us an enormous new vocabulary for our dance, and stretched the boundaries of what can be expressed with hip circles, shimmies, snake arms, floor work, etc.

I believe the sky is the limit, and that individuals inspired to create dances should find inspiration in all of the places that great art has come from in the past – from the self, from the world, from the mundane and the profane and the social and the political and the cultural and the spiritual. The key to fleshing out these more complicated themes is to understand the theatrical medium as well as we understand the dance.

Go ahead, use spoken text, but understand the effect of that text and cast a dancer or actor who is able to adjust the rhythm or the intensity of the speech to achieve the effect you desire. Understanding the medium brings our vision to the most heightened place where the illusion and the performer’s connection to the moment, her belief in the “reality” of the dance, are united. And audiences respond to this connection. The become part of the reality of the experience. This is the beauty of live performance.

The onus for bringing a new world to life falls on the individual dancer’s and choreographer’s vision, abilities, training and commitment, and their own answers to all the questions presented above. It does not fall upon current or past preferences for how Oriental dance “should” be presented, created, dreamed up or lived. There are no formulas, there is only, for better or worse, the creative art of dance. The resulting style becomes the signature of the creator, her individual offering to the art form and the world. The tricks of the trade, the breast pads, false eyelashes, veiled faces, fake swords, tape, spit, and safety pins, fastened with prayers, have all been employed before in the pursuit of truth, justice, beauty, connection, communication, communion.

In fact, as the occult photographers show us, illusion is not simply the trick of the theatrical art forms, but all visual art forms. When the painter lays two complimentary colors next to one another on a canvas, the effect on the eye is a shimmer, just as shimmies shimmer better when enhanced by the light-bending properties of crystal fringe. It is a trick knowingly played on the eye to achieve an effect. After all, “art” and “artifice” come from the same word – they are the same word. We are a band of believers, whose healthy dose of cynicism is overwhelmed by the joy of imagination, who believe the illusion is real even when that illusion has been created by our own hands.

*** Amantha received her BFA in Acting from DePaul University and performed for several years in Chicago. She attained her MFA in Directing from California Institute of the Arts, and her work as a director is typically characterized by the use of dance and movement to create resonant images. She has worked as a director in Chicago, L.A. and in New York at Looking Glass Theatre, Manhattan Theatre Source and other
companies around the city. Amantha began studying Middle Eastern Dance in 2000
and has pursued it relentlessly, performing at Lafayette Grill, Café Figaro, Brick Lane Curry, Karma, Kush, Laila Lounge, the Bowery Poetry Club, the Brick Theatre, at events for Project Find, United Cerebral Palsy Foundation and more, and many private parties, weddings, women’s circles, etc. She teaches beginning bellydance and has recently begun combining her directorial skills with dance to choreograph theatrical bellydance. She created an evening of Middle Eastern Dance for the NY Public Library Donnell Media Center in May 2005. Her next show, "Enchanted Oasis", also at the Library, performs Tuesday, January 24th, 2006. She hopes to take the fusion of dance and theatre to new levels in the future. Visit Amantha's web site.