I believe very strongly that I have been called to dance, but in this past year, I've been struggling with what exactly that may look like. Dance has been a very positive and often therapeutic influence in my life, but it's also been, at times, a stumbling block for me, providing a wide-open door for insecurity, body image issues, and more recently, a lot of disillusionment and broken dreams. This school year in particular I dealt with an onslaught of psychoemotional struggles, as an increased workload of dance classes brought me face-to-face with some of my deepest fears and failures.

It all started last fall, after a year’s break from modern dance classes. The first week or so of the semester went smoothly, but as time progressed, I began to notice that I was gradually becoming more and more frustrated in modern class. I’ve only been studying modern dance for four years now, so at first I just wrote the growing irritation off as a natural fluctuation of the learning process. I thought it was to be expected, given that I’ve always had trouble picking up modern combinations and finding the correct expressions of movement quality – until I could no longer seem to grasp even the most basic exercises and could hardly pay attention to my teachers over the angry thoughts constantly buzzing through my mind: “I hate this. I need to get out of here. I’d rather be anywhere else than in this class.” I found the first documentation of this struggle in a journal entry from mid-September of last year:
“I learned a lot in Modern class today! That’s good because it usually makes me angry…I also find myself less thin than I want and the sentiment is growing. I’m still scared of being back row, understudy, odd one out for the rest of my life.”

The last two sentences refer more to my balletic insecurities, which slowly made the crossover to all forms of dance as the semester progressed. I sometimes joke that when it comes to ballet, I’m a professional understudy – always good enough to be cast in the ballet works, but when it comes down to who will perform in the three nights of shows,  I’m fourth or fifth in line. Perhaps that’s a terrible thing to write, but in all honesty, that’s how ballet is. It’s fairly cut and dried – either you have what it takes to be put onstage or you’re not quite there yet, and I’m still learning. In the beginning, it was relatively easy to bottle up my frustration, but within weeks I found myself exploding onto the pages of my journal instead of coping:
“I’m upset today. I cried in Modern class, got angry in chapel, and I don’t want to do any of the fun stuff planned for this weekend. I just want to sleep and maybe not exist anymore…I can hardly control my anger in modern class any longer, and I’ve resorted to mental obscenity screaming and leaving class to punch walls and cry. I can’t explain why I feel this way when asked, and I can’t convince myself that there’s actually anything worth considering…I don’t want to think about this or anything. I don’t want to be around people. I don’t want to be conscious…”

By October, the growing negativity of my thoughts was no longer confined to dance class. I had lost interest in hanging out with my friends, fulfilling my duties as the chaplain on my floor, and spending time with my family, and struggled deeply to find anything positive to say when anyone asked how my day had been. I looked for every possible opportunity to skip class, and cringed each time I caught a glimpse of the angry, jaded woman in the mirror.

Just after Fall Break, I finally reached a tipping point. I had learned a beautiful classical ballet variation in rehearsal over the course of the semester and when finalized casting was posted, I was once again an understudy. But instead of being grateful for the learning opportunity and continuing to perfect my technique in rehearsal, I shut down. I felt that I had irrevocably failed as a dancer, that my time had run out and that I was nothing short of a disgrace to the profession. I had lost my shot at success and could see nothing of value in my future. That day I decided I didn’t want a future at all. I went back to my dorm room, cried for about an hour, and prayed that I would die before graduation.

…And all of this because of disappointments in dance class. How could something so comparatively small on the grand scale of things cause such a ground-shaking disturbance to my well-being? Looking back, I see that I had centered the core of my identity around my success in dance – success according to my limited, closed-minded definition, which involved little more than finally being chosen for a soloist part by our faculty and landing myself in a ballet company after graduation. I knew then, and still know now that I am supposed to dance, but I had settled on one picture in my mind and had come to want only that, or nothing at all. It was the realization that what I had planned for would not become a reality, that finally forced to me to take a closer look at how I defined myself.

Among my classes that semester was Advanced Choreography, the primary objective of which was to create an original dance work with five to seven dancers. The piece I had been creating focused on the definition of womanhood, and I had been experimenting with using a mirror as a prop, symbolizing the different standards women use to evaluate themselves by. As I thought through the rationale behind this artistic choice, I realized that for nearly all of my life, I had been looking to the mirror of dance (specifically ballet) to determine my worth – a mirror that presented me with a reflection that was overweight, ugly, and untalented. What I needed to view myself in was the mirror of Scripture – a mirror that tells me I am unique, valuable, and loved unconditionally and infinitely by the God of the universe. My faith has been central to who I am for a number of years now, but for some reason, in regards to dance, I had failed to let what I believed influence the way I thought about myself.

It took me a few days to come to the realization that something had to be done, but fairly quickly after, I took action. That weekend, I drove up to the camp and conference center I work at to staff a retreat, bringing along a bag full of every old pair of pointe shoes I had worn over the years. That evening, I trekked out to a fire pit in the backwoods of the property, arranged them in a circle at the center, and quite literally, set fire to what had been all of my dreams for so long. That act is very likely the angstiest thing I have ever done, but as the physical representation of all those hours of work – the actual blood, sweat, and tears – went up in smoke, I felt a profound sense of relief. In that moment, I made the choice that ballet, or even dance in general, would no longer be an excuse for me to hate myself.

I’d like to say that after that day, everything has been fine. In truth, that’s not generally how life works. There were a lot of tears shed backstage at the dance concert that semester, and I ended up seeking counseling through my school to process through mild suicidal ideation and a brief attempt at anorexia. To this day, I sometimes still find myself grieving for a lost dream, but as time passes, I see more and more sweetness to the grief. I’ve continued in dance classes, and thanks to the constant encouragement and accountability provided by my teachers and classmates, I’m beginning to genuinely enjoy both ballet and modern dance again. I know I will dance after college – I’m not sure how or when, but I’ve learned to acknowledge the fact that the deep desires of our hearts are put there for a reason even when we can’t see any chance of them becoming reality. When I have a bad class or leave rehearsal feeling inadequate, I return to who I am as a human, created in the image of God. Knowing that I am more than a name on a casting sheet has come to be the most profound and meaningful discovery I’ve made in perhaps my entire collegiate career.

​Up until now, I realize, dance has been little more than a pitfall for me. I have called it all kinds of things that it is not in my life, and now I see the truth: dance is not my identity. Dance is not going to be my career, my ultimate destiny, a pastime, my weapon, the meaning of my existence, or even a crucial part of me. Dance is something God has put in my life because He wanted to, and He is the only one, at this point, who knows truly why or how. He has to be in complete control of this gift, or it will never reach the full potential that He has planned for it in my life. Dance is important to me because (and only because) it is a way that I can connect with and serve my Creator. That, I think, is more valuable than anything else I could have learned this year.

One of the many reasons I have found over the years to love my school is its focus on “Whole Person Education, Spirit, Mind, and Body.” Every student is held to high standards as a matter of policy: ORU actually has an attendance policy requiring students to physically attend class lectures, holds chapel twice a week (mandatory for all students, faculty, and staff), and requires all undergraduates to enroll in a physical education course each semester. Not everyone at school appreciates these requirements, but as a fairly motivated collegiate with any measure of school pride and the desire to succeed, I find very little to criticize in these policies.

If anything causes a stir among ORU students, however, it’s certainly the aerobics points/Fitbit/field test system that currently constitutes our physical education program. Many students find the performance standards (rumored on the university grapevine to be as tough as some military qualification scores) to be, at the least, daunting, if not downright impossible. Here’s a short breakdown of what every ORU student is expected to achieve each semester:

• In the past, students have been expected to earn 50 “aerobics points” per week, incorporated into the grade of every PE class. Aerobics points are calculated via a complicated system involving a “target heart rate training zone” based on age and the number of 10-minute segments your heart rate stays in that zone. As a twenty-something, my heart rate training zone ranges from 120-180 beats per minute, meaning that 6 hours and 20 minutes at 120 bpm would get me 50 aerobics points, or 2 hours and 5 minutes at 180 bpm.
  
  
• Currently, the old aerobics point system is being grandfathered out, replaced with a computer program connected to the Fitbits that every incoming freshman is now required to buy. On the Fitbit program, students are required to take 10,000 steps a day, and earn a specified number of “active minutes” per week at a certain heart rate. Both of these factors are incorporated into every student’s grade.
  
  
• Every semester each student is required to run or walk a two mile (1.5 mile for first-semester freshmen) field test. For the first half of each semester, most PE classes focus exclusively on training for the field test, requiring students to run at least twice a week. According to the current standards, any time above an 8 or 9-minute mile constitutes a failing grade on the field test, and that number is factored prominently into the student’s grade for the entire class.
  
  

This is all fine and good – if you love running. As a dance student, I am still attempting to sift through the vast body of opinions on whether or not running is good cross training: Will this destroy my knee joints? Strengthen all the wrong muscles for ballet? What about the cardiovascular benefits, though? Of course, at this point I have no choice – I can run, or I can watch my beautiful college GPA go down in flames because I’m not fast enough on the track. I’ve tried walking the field test as well, which has given me little more for my trouble than more time spent in getting a bad grade and some ferocious shin splints.

​Over the years, the dance students at ORU have gotten to discover the best way to adapt to this enforced training, and learn more about movement and our bodies as we engage in non-dance physical education classes. We learn, often through trial and error, how much we ought to push ourselves in relation to our rehearsal load, when an upcoming performance is more important than one or two extra time points, and the wondrous miracle of ice packs. Personally, I’ve come to appreciate the extra gym time since it has, in a sense, forced me to take ownership of actually cross training – and the running has definitely increased my stamina. So until our program gains enough credibility to get some slack on the track when we really need it, I look on the bright side, sprinting across the gym like I’m headed for a quick change.

​Amy McIntosh
 
"Let Justice Roll Down", a 20-minute group dance work, grew out of McIntosh’s struggle with oppression, injustice, and misplaced power within our communities, along with a pivotal book written by John M. Perkins.  After having lived in Jackson, MS for five years, McIntosh moved back home to Tulsa in 2006, and soon after was given a copy of Perkins’ book, “Let Justice Roll Down.”  Perkins, a native of Mississippi, now 81, writes of his journey out of racial injustice into renewal, as he discovers his role in pioneering a new way of living in community.  Perkins has devoted his life to developing communities where reconciliation and transformation thrive, and where the walls of power are broken down.  McIntosh’s work explores power as it seeks to devastate, devour, and deteriorate the very fabric of humanity. 
 
I started this work with a solo last summer (2011), Until It’s Over, which premiered at Exchange 2011.  At the time I was predominately working with the emotion of anger.  We had just finished building a new play room upstairs in our house and with 2 boys, 5 years and one year at the time, I made use of my space upstairs to dance.  A unique corner of the room became the inspiration for the beginning of my solo as it had 3 walls forming a sort of open box that I began playing with and letting my weight fall into the walls, push off them and feel what it was like to be in this partly open, partly closed box like space, walls.  This would become important later to the next phase of my work in the group section. 

​And then I began the process of building a group work that grew out of this seed of a solo:
I began to imagine these walls I mentioned earlier, I envisioned 3 walls made by the dancers, signifying separation, disillusionment, difference, segregation, loss of connection….
 
I really wanted this first section of the group work to create an atmosphere with texture and emotion.  We began working with 2 words, OPPRESSOR and OPPRESSED.  These would become central to the entire work and shed new light on the way I danced the solo a year later when the full work came together.
 
I began reading another text by John Perkins, With Justice For All: A Strategy for Community Development. 
 
In my journal I wrote:
Jesus said who do you say I am?
Who am I to you?
Healer of my soul
The one who can make me right
The one who can help me trust again
The one who can pick me up and help me begin again, anew
The one who can turn my narrow tunnel into a new opening
The one who can make me feel like I’m just getting started, the one who can ignite a passion in me that I can barely control, that I can’t control, that I don’t want to control
The one thing I don’t want to control
 
I wrote in my journal: this piece is for my boys, may you tear down wall of oppression in your lifetime that my eyes have only begun to see.
 
A kingdom turned upside down, a powerful king that suffered and chose death on a cross.

And then I went on another online journey through the eyes of Jacob Holdt, a sojourner on a quest to live amongst the oppressed and the oppressors.  I found his journeys to be surreal and yet a curiosity as he was willing to allow himself to be in the midst of injustice often encountering danger and violence.
 
I wrote in my journal some quotes from Holdt:
“A journey into this human being behind its terrifying anger. And the more I came to understand and like this human being, the more I saw how I could myself be the cause of anger in a system from which day one forced me onto the side of the oppressor….”
 
The wolf philosophy-“The road is lonesome and to succeed one must be like a wolf: eat or be eaten, for one can only succeed at the cost or the failure of others.”
 
“Yet we can only end crippling taboo systems by trying to be completely human toward everyone-thereby risking deeper involvement and love.”

“I did not understand that sunglass-covered hatred, yet it reflected such a shocking distortion of my own perceived humanity that it forced me to ask how I could possibly be seen in such a way.  Could I myself be the cause of that anger?  Could I myself ever end up harboring such anger?”

May 15, 2015. Howard Auditorium is fairly full, and I stand backstage, surrounded by my fellow ORU dance students. I’m about to perform a choreography project I’ve helped create with my Dance for Worship class, but I’m not thinking about applause or congratulations after; this isn’t one of our end-of-semester dance concerts. The performance is for those attending Amy McIntosh’s funeral service.

The first time I met Amy was at my high school studio – she taught the creative movement class that my younger sister attended for a year or two. I never had much interaction with her during those days, but I remember hearing with excitement the news that ORU was starting a dance major and she would be leaving to help bring that project to fruition. Fast forward four years, and I’m stepping into the Howard studio on campus for the first time, a terrified college freshman testing out the seemingly impossible feat of obtaining two separate four-year degrees in only six.

Amy was the first person to tell me my dream was achievable, and was, doubtlessly, one of the single greatest factors that made it so. I expected to be berated for divided loyalty or laughed out of one degree program or the other, but instead, she sat down with me and talked through each of my anxieties one by one. At first, I was in shock. Here I was with the audacity to tell her I wanted to do something in addition to dance, and she was genuinely excited! It almost seemed that she was more in favor of my crazy plan than I was: I remember her eyes lighting up, and how excitedly she told me that anything could be possible, and she would do everything she could to help me succeed within both majors. I’m not sure why this surprised me so much, or why I expected that I would be told to pick between the two degrees, but the more I worked with her, the more I realized that her outlook on life was decidedly different.

Amy didn’t compartmentalize life. She didn’t believe in the age-old mantra “leave it all at the studio door,” at least not in the conventional sense. She encouraged the ORU dancers to allow our work to be informed and nourished by each aspect of our lives – family and dorm situations, personal emotional struggles and victories – and for me, the experiences of nursing school. She always held us to a high standard of professionalism, but we would spend significant segments of rehearsals simply talking about the spiritual and intellectual meaning behind her pieces, and how the concepts that we were focusing on could apply or relate to our own lives. One semester, she decided to bring her husband and children to rehearsal, allowing them access to the part of her life spent with us and giving us the opportunity to see into the family that she loved so much. I will never forget that – the intense devotion that led Amy to blend the two worlds that any other teacher would have left separate without so much as a second thought. She told us that it would be cheating every part of her life to not allow each area to interact with the others, and she constantly encouraged us to do the same. That holistic, connected mindset was how she lived every moment of her life: each time I found myself in her office, terrified over some potential roadblock to graduation, she reassured me that this was God’s plan for my life and He was able to bring it to fruition, that I could and would be a dancer and a nurse. Because of her mentorship in those early years, I held on to that dream – and in just over a year, I’ll graduate from Oral Roberts University with a Bachelor of Science in Nursing and a Bachelor of Arts in Dance Performance. I hold her fully responsible.

During my third year in the Dance Program at ORU, Amy was diagnosed with lung cancer. From October to April, she continued to pour heart and soul into all of her students, who had, at this point, become more like her adoptive children. When she was too ill to come into the studio, she would skype in from home, still pushing us in the authoritative but gentle tone we had come to know so well; to jump higher, reach further, risk more. Our hearts broke during those months, but Amy would have none of that. I remember the instructions she gave us just days before she passed: at her memorial service we were all to wear pink and put flowers in our hair. She wanted her home-going to be a joyful event, and in some ways it truly was.

In the days following Amy’s death on Good Friday of 2015, my class worked to put together a tribute for Amy, composed of excerpts from her choreography. We shed a few tears backstage that day at her memorial service, but what I remember most was the performance itself. As we stepped onto the stage that day, a sensation I could only label as joy flooded the auditorium. I’ve been to a few funerals in my two decades of life, but none even remotely resembled this. We danced, rejoicing for Amy’s release from suffering, celebrating her reunion with the Creator she had loved so much throughout her life. As we left the stage at the end of those few brief minutes, I knew that was exactly what she had wanted.
​
To this day I consider myself blessed to have been able to be a part of that moment. A week after the service, we were still getting comments from attendees about how meaningful and healing the performance had been. To be honest, however, it wasn’t that surprising. That gentle, all-inclusive, worshipful presence was – and still is – the heart of Amy’s legacy.

            “Oh, so you’re going to be a dancing nurse, then? You know, doing spins and leaps while you start people’s IVs?” The first twenty times I heard someone say that when I told them about my double major, I thought it was funny. The next 200+, I didn’t find it quite as humorous. After nearly five years of getting that same joke over and over, however, I’m beginning to think that perhaps the nine-and-a-half out of ten people who ask me this question might actually be onto something.

            Currently, I’m on Year Five of a six year degree plan at Oral Roberts University. One of our school’s mottos is “Make No Little Plans Here,” and I’ve certainly done that – I’m tackling two of our most challenging and time-consuming majors available, Nursing and Dance Performance. As a dual-degree student rather than just a double major, I’ve had to say the least a very unique college experience. Many days I lose track of the number of times I change outfits, switching from leotard and tights to scrubs, then into athletic gear for modern class and finally trying to look professional right after as I head to my work study position. I’ve had to extend my time at university an extra two years, simply to fit in all the credits without going over block tuition rates and surrendering an appendage to pay for it (I’m a dancer – I need all of those!). I’m often asked why I chose to go for a full major instead of just a minor or a few sporadic classes in dance, and my standard reply is that I believe both professions have equal importance in my future, so I want to dedicate the same amount of time and effort to both of them. But as time progresses, I think I might change how I answer. I realize now that being a full-time dance student has in many ways made an essential contribution to my success throughout nursing school.

            Much like dance, the field of nursing places a high value on performance. Besides hours upon hours spent in lecture halls and memorizing the side effects of hundreds of different drugs, nursing students spend considerable time in simulation labs learning “clinical skills:” starting and stopping an IV, setting up a nasogastric tube, dressing changes, and so on. The instructors give us step-by-step directions on how exactly to perform each skill without contaminating equipment or posing risk to a patient, and at the end of the semester we are required to successfully complete the skills in front of a professor to advance in the program. I had an extremely difficult time with the clinical skills during my third year, until I started thinking of the steps in each process as choreography, like a set of classical ballet variations, if you will. Learning a new piece of choreography takes time and practice, and unless one possesses a most exceptional mind, cannot be completely memorized all in one sitting. Individual steps must be learned before you can hope to string them all together, which reminded me to break each skill down into the smallest possible steps so I could ensure at every point I knew exactly where to place supplies and which hose connects to which tube on the suction equipment. While still paying attention to details, it’s important to remember the basic principles of technique (instead of reminding myself to turn out or pull up through my knees I remember not to touch anything dirty with my sterile gloves), and to be honest, maneuvering around a patient’s bed with hands full of expensive medical equipment is about as difficult as spacing a full-length ballet. Once I began comparing my time in the Sim Lab to a rehearsal for a dance piece, I found myself able to engage with the learning process better – and found my ability to successfully demonstrate the skills significantly improved.

            Another important element of nursing practice is what we’ve termed the five-step Nursing Process: assessment, diagnosis, outcome planning, intervention, and evaluation. The semester that this process really made sense to me was the same semester that I completed my second choreography project, a trio dealing with the trauma and ramifications of divorce. As I gathered research to inform my dance piece, I started to notice some similarities between the choreographic process and the nursing process. So far, nearly every dance I’ve considered making begins with observations of a phenomenon or something happening in the world, and the diagnosis of a problem or situation to address. After that, I have to set goals (or in medicalese, “outcomes”) for what the dance work will end up communicating; discover the shapes, movement qualities, and motifs that will meet that artistic need. After creating the movement, I pause to reassess what I have created to determine if it addresses the subject the way I had intended. Noticing the almost perfectly direct correlations between how I create dance and how I care for patients has not only cemented the steps of the nursing process in my mind, but also challenged me to explore how I can be therapeutic and provide opportunities for healing in the way that I choreograph and work with other dancers.
​
            Besides all of that, remaining committed to my dance major has taught me how to manage my time better, cope with stress, remain emotionally stable, and perhaps most importantly, live holistically. I’ve learned through dance that there may always be someone more advanced or more talented than you, but that’s okay. Dance shows me that individuality is acceptable and to be celebrated, which challenges me to learn about the unique needs of each of my patients and care for them in the way that fits them best rather than cutting and pasting dried, formulaic interventions into their plan of care simply because it “matches the problem.” Discovering these correlations and allowing each of my degrees to enrich and inform the other shows clearly that life is meant to be lived all in one piece, not categorized and separated. Opposites do attract, and even the two most diametrically opposed courses of study can relate to each other. So as silly as it may sound at first, I suppose I will be a “dancing nurse.” I’m at least planning to work it into the title of both my senior papers. 

After discussing the beginnings of Dance/Movement Therapy and the physical effects of dance in Part I of this series, as well as the emotional and psychological effects of dance in Part II, this third and final issue will highlight the therapeutic effects of dance on a social scale.

 Dance has proven to be helpful for those who choose to implement it within their own lives. However, there is another beneficial aspect of dance therapy, which up until now, has not been addressed. Dance is, after all, traditionally a performing art and, as with any performance, there is an audience. One might ask how these performances affect audiences? In the same way that dance affects the dancer, there are several different ways dance can affect viewers. The audience may wish to de-stress and observe a ballet to calm themselves, or they might enjoy the cognitive stimulation that arises when watching complicated footwork. Perhaps they are even looking for emotional release. Any of these circumstances would be an excellent reason to watch a dance performance. Yet, there is something special that occurs when dancers and an audience unite: a community is formed. The crowd is no longer merely a group of spectators; they become emotionally involved. Many times when rehearsing a performance piece, the choreographer will guide the dancers with corrections such as, “Take time here to look at someone,” … “Connect with your audience,” … “What are you communicating?” Just as a piece of music can strike a chord in someone’s heart and produce meaningful tears, so can dance resonate with something inside the individual. Observers can see movement and relate it to something within their own lives. This connection creates an unspoken bond between the dancers and the audience.

            There is a plethora of benefits of dance. Improved physical mobility, emotional release, and psychological stability are only a few of these benefits. Dance is a natural kinesthetic response to thoughts, emotions, and external stimuli such as music. Another important influence of dance within a culture is the community created. This desirable bond can be reached through public performances. One need not spend an exorbitant amount of money to take part in dance therapy but can attend performances put on by universities, professional companies, or even get involved in social dances close to home for very little expense. This will also provide support for these departments. Within a university, for example, a dance concert is an excellent opportunity to draw the student body together and give them a reason to relate to one another. Attending events akin to this will broaden the views of those who do not yet dance themselves, as well as give the dancers experience to effectively communicate what they have learned through their movement. If a greater number of people can learn to appreciate this art while the artists learn to share their stories, how much more will that strengthen the bond between “dancer” and “non-dancer,” thus forging unity within an environment? Another example would be social dancing events found within a given city. There are many different organizations that host events such as an evening of swing dance on the weekends. These serve to educate younger generations and aid in social skills – after all, you have to dance with someone – but perhaps most importantly, they draw neighbors, co-workers, and strangers together to form a closely-knit community.
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            As is seen throughout this series, Dance/Movement Therapy can be an effective tool, firstly, in physical therapy: increasing flexibility, strength, and range of motion in joints and muscles. Secondly, dance can be used in emotional and psychological therapy: promoting self-perception, relieving stress, and even aiding with grief. Thirdly, dance can be practiced as a means of social health: assisting development within a community as well as enhancing social skills. Dance can literally change a life.

For Immediate Use
July 10, 2017

FOR MORE INFORMATION:
Rachel Johnson, Executive & Artistic Director
                                  The Bell House
9926 N. Ashfield Rd.
Owasso, OK 74055
(918) 549-1231
johnsonrac@gmail.com

THE BELL HOUSE PRESENTS
THE 2017 EXCHANGE CHOREOGRAPHY FESTIVAL,
BRINGING 23 BUDDING CHOREOGRAPHERS AND
CLEVELAND’S INLET DANCE THEATRE TO TULSA FOR CREATIVE DEVELOPMENT
 
The Bell House’s EXCHANGE is the only dance festival of its kind in the region, a weekend dedicated to fostering conversation about the creative process among dancemakers. Now in its fifth year, EXCHANGE prioritizes and supports choreographic process and artistic community in the tradition of dance centers like New York City’s Judson Church. 
 
Held August 24-26, 2017, at Holland Hall’s Walter Arts Center, EXCHANGE features informal performances by 23 developing choreographers from across the country at 6:30pm on the first two evenings, followed by a choreography workshop and networking opportunities. All events are open to the public.
 
EXCHANGE culminates in a Gala performance at 6pm on August 26, featuring works from 2017 guest artist Bill Wade and his INLET Dance Theatre from Cleveland, Ohio. INLET arrives in Tulsa fresh from an August 4 performance at the legendary Jacob’s Pillow Dance Festival in Becket, MA. INLET dancer Dominic Moore-Dunson, recipient of the Creative Community Fellowship and mentored by Mr. Wade, will be Exchange Choreography Festival’s Featured Guest Choreographer, presenting his work The “Black Card” Project. 

Three review-accepted submissions will contest for a “Best of the Fest” honor, awarded with a slot in the Saturday night Gala along with dance film shorts on the nature of making art in dance, a local choreographic project by Rachel Bruce Johnson, and a performance by New York City artist, Shawn Rawls. Other events include a lecture on the topic of “Artist as Entrepreneur” by guest artist Bill Wade.
 
The festival will be held at Holland Hall’s Walter Arts Center, 5666 E 81st St., Tulsa, OK 74136, and is made possible in part by the Oklahoma Arts Council.
 
For more information, contact (918) 549-1231, email bellhouseart@gmail.com, or visit http://www.thebellhouse.info/exchange-choreography-festival.html

Dance In The Mix welcomes Evangeline Bonin as our first student guest blogger sharing thoughts are research she has been developing during her undergraduate work at Oral Roberts University in Tulsa, OK. ​

Part I of this research examined the beginnings of Dance/Movement Therapy (sometimes referred to as DMT) in the early to mid 1900s and the positive physical effects of dance used as therapy for World War II veterans, autistic children, and breast cancer survivors. The benefits from Dance/Movement Therapy are not only physical but can also be emotional and psychological. The emotional and psychological effects will be addressed within this issue.

One experiment performed for patients suffering from anxiety consisted of placing the patients in either a math class, a music class, a modern dance class, or an exercise class. Surprisingly, the dance class proved to be the one that significantly helped to decrease the patients’ anxiety (Devereaux). Dance/Movement Therapy is an effective way to relieve stress, which can manifest itself in many ways within the human body, both physically and emotionally. At some point in time, every person will experience stress in their lives, whether it be from work, school, or relationships. People tend to subconsciously hold tension in their neck or back, which is directly correlated to stress. If left unattended, built up stress can allow for a variety of health problems. These problems can include ulcers, insomnia, and high blood pressure. In some cases, the health effects of stress can become as severe as arthritis and heart disease (Huber 99-100). Dance is an excellent way to release pent up emotions and relax the body.

            Since dance is, in itself, very personal and expressive. It is also a way of accessing hidden emotion; in this way it can instigate or advance the process of emotional healing. Jenna Cheung, an Oral Roberts University alumna who studied Dance Performance, presents some examples of how dance affects circumstances in her life. She explains how choreographing a dance allows her to process things within her life and her Christian faith. Cheung is then able to implement these ideas into her piece and finds herself growing closer to God through the process. When asked the reason for her dancing, she replies, “I dance because I don’t want my mind to get in the way of my raw emotions as I communicate” (Cheung). She appreciates how improvisation allows her to express her moods in the moment by creating movement to either compliment or create discord with the music. Cheung shares about an experience in which she recently took part with the dance program at Oral Roberts University: after the loss of one of their dance instructors, a modern dance class at the university learned some of the instructor’s choreography to honor her (Cheung). These movements were the breaking points for some of the students who had not been able to cry or fully process the situation before. Eventually, the motions from the original phrase were taken by each student and were morphed into their own expressions of honor towards their instructor. The emotions released in this class provided needed closure and facilitated community for these grieving students.
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            Dance/Movement Therapy evidently affects one’s emotional state but it can also affect their psychological state. Looking back at the group of cancer survivors mentioned in Part I of this series, not only did they benefit physically, but in addition, those who took part in a Dance/Movement Therapy class showed improved self-esteem and had an improved self-perception (“Dance”). Since moving one’s body is necessary for dance many people find that as they grow more confident in their dancing it boosts their confidence in the way they look. This is a result of the individuals learning how their body works and gaining an appreciation for how it moves. The bodies of adolescents go through drastic changes within only a few years. Because of this, it is very important for them to be able to move and grow accustomed to their bodies, as well as to learn how to control and coordinate their limbs, core, and muscles through dance (Engelhard). As a result, teenagers who have taken part in DMT tend to have increased stability and assurance in themselves despite the difficult time of adolescence when everything around them, and even within them, is changing.

            Some studies show that teenagers suffering from depression have decreased dopamine levels with increased levels of plasma serotonin (“feel good” chemicals) after twelve weeks of Dance/Movement Therapy. This suggests that DMT could even aid in balancing the nervous system. More time and research will be needed to verify this conclusion but there have been several findings that substantiate this idea. A study performed with depressed teenage girls in Sweden in 2006 shows that after only three months of Dance/Movement Therapy their mental health improved (Engelhard). Another study performed at the Wonkwang University in Korea confirms this idea as well. Once again, teenagers were invited to participate in twelve weeks of DMT, at the end, conclusions were drawn that dance can aid in alleviating depression along with other psychological disorders (Devereaux). Unlike some hobbies, there is an aspect of dance that touches every person. It can reach through lost memories, wandering thoughts, and clouded minds. Whether an individual prefers ballet, modern, or hip-hop, there is always a style with which they can identify. The final part of this series will discuss the social effects of dance and how it can benefit you, our readers.

THE BELL HOUSE PRESENTS
THE 2017 EXCHANGE CHOREOGRAPHY FESTIVAL,
BRINGING 23 BUDDING CHOREOGRAPHERS AND
CLEVELAND’S INLET DANCE THEATRE TO TULSA FOR CREATIVE DEVELOPMENT
 
The Bell House’s EXCHANGE is the only dance festival of its kind in the region, a weekend dedicated to fostering conversation about the creative process among dancemakers. Now in its fifth year, EXCHANGE prioritizes and supports choreographic process and artistic community in the tradition of dance centers like New York City’s Judson Church. 
 
Held August 24-26, 2017, at Holland Hall’s Walter Arts Center, EXCHANGE features informal performances by 23 developing choreographers from across the country at 6:30pm on the first two evenings, followed by a choreography workshop and networking opportunities. All events are open to the public.
 
EXCHANGE culminates in a Gala performance at 6pm on August 26, featuring works from 2017 guest artist Bill Wade and his INLET Dance Theatre from Cleveland, Ohio. INLET arrives in Tulsa fresh from an August 4 performance at the legendary Jacob’s Pillow Dance Festival in Becket, MA. INLET dancer Dominic Moore-Dunson, recipient of the Creative Community Fellowship and mentored by Mr. Wade, will be Exchange Choreography Festival’s Featured Guest Choreographer, presenting his work The Black Card Project. 

Three review-accepted submissions will contest for a “Best of the Fest” honor, awarded with a slot in the Saturday night Gala along with dance film shorts on the nature of making art in dance, a local choreographic project by Rachel Bruce Johnson, and a performance by New York City artist, Shawn Rawls. Other events include a lecture on the topic of “Artist as Entrepreneur” by guest artist Bill Wade.
 
The festival will be held at Holland Hall’s Walter Arts Center, 5666 E 81st St., Tulsa, OK 74136, and is made possible in part by the Oklahoma Arts Council.
 
For more information, contact (918) 549-1231, email bellhouseart@gmail.com, or visit http://www.thebellhouse.info/exchange-choreography-festival.html.

Our Friends at Tulsa Modern Movement wrote this nice shout out to us for EXCHANGE! 

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The Exchange Choreography Festival, by our friends at The Bell House, is coming up this August. We think you would enjoy it.

Since 2009, The Exchange Choreography Festival has been Tulsa's only adjudicated contemporary dance festival. Exchange provides a platform for artists at various stages in their careers to showcase their work and make a place for the broader community to engage with dance on a deeper level. The 2017 Featured Artist is Bill Wade, Jr., Artistic Director of Inlet Dance Theatre, who will lead the ART Talk/Q&A and a choreography workshop.

The featured performance of the Gala concert is an excerpt by Inlet's Dominic Moore-Dunson, The "Black Card" Project. By combining dance and comedy, Dominic tackles the issue of racial self-perception and identity by examining the African American idea of the "black card" in order to facilitate an intergenerational conversation about the past, present, and future of racial identity and economic development. Dominic will be joined in performance by Inlet company member Kevin Parker during the Saturday night Gala concert.

Purchase your Exchange tickets here. We can't wait to see you this August.

Festival Schedule: 
Thursday ~ August 24
6:30-8:30 p.m. --  Informal Showings/mixed concert
8:30-10:30 p.m. -- Festival Launch Party
 
Friday ~ August 25
11:00-3:00 p.m. -- Choreography Workshop with Featured Artist with Bill Wade
6:30-8:30 p.m. –  Informal Showings/mixed concert continues
 
Saturday ~ August 26
2:30-4:00 p.m. – ART Talk/Q&A - "Artist as Entrepreneur"
(open to all workshop participants)
6:00 p.m. -- GALA Concert, after party to follow

Location: Holland Hall, Walter Arts Center, Tulsa, OK 
5666 E 81st St, Tulsa, OK 74136

For more information, visit The Bell House
For tickets and price inquiries, click here
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