On the Right Foot

Three teachers set the scene for a successful new school year

Deb Mata and a group of fifth-grade boys at Felida Elementary practicing for a flash mob performance

After three months of silence,  school classrooms and hallways will soon be filled with energetic young bodies. For dance teachers, this time of year brings instant momentum and creative potential, but it’s also a vital and delicate time when you must lay a good foundation for the year ahead. Below, three veterans share their tips on getting the best start.

DEB MATA

School: Mata, who has been a K–12 dance educator for 19 years, currently teaches grades 1–8 at Felida Elementary and Thomas Jefferson Middle School in Vancouver, Washington.

One of the primary challenges of a new school year is transforming a classroom of mixed personalities into a community—as Mata says, “creating an ordered classroom where students can then open up and be expressive.”

* Establish and define your environment. To create an environment where students feel like “working artists,” Mata leads her class in a brainstorming session, asking for positive buzzwords the students want to use in their community, such as “trust,” “open-minded,” “support,” “friendship” or “unity.” She then divides the class into small groups of four or five and has them create shapes together based on three of the words. Then the students connect the three shapes with transitions before performing their creations for each other.

* Find outlets for post-summer-break chattiness. Mata uses the students’ need to reunite and socialize to her advantage while reviewing basic concepts about space and time. In one exercise, students stand back to back with a partner. She gives them a verbal prompt, such as “Greet each other in a foreign language,” or “Share one fun activity you did over the summer.” The partners turn to face each other and verbally share. Then, Mata asks partners to work together to create a descriptive shape—such as curvy,

diagonal or crisscross—before leaving their partners and moving through the space alone. She signals when it’s time to partner up with someone new and repeat the exercise.

* Create a strategic seating chart. Mata teaches 800 kids, but every year, on the first day, she greets each student individually before assigning him/her a spot on the floor. She uses this brief interaction to get a feel for the student’s personality. She also takes note of students who might have difficulty following directions or keeping their hands to themselves and puts them up front. “I have them close at hand so I can speak to them one-on-one very quietly at any time,” says Mata.

ANA NERY FRAGOSO

School: With a decade of K–12 experience, Nery Fragoso currently teaches elementary school students at PS 315 in New York City.

Nery Fragoso finds her students are generally relaxed and receptive at the beginning of the year, but she emphasizes that it is vital to set the tone of an orderly classroom right from the start. “You have to make classes fun at the beginning, but they should also be meaty and include everything students are going to need for the rest of the year,” she says. “If you play around with them just because it’s the beginning, you’re going to lose them.” She implements order by having her students begin each class with two minutes of meditation to help them transition into a dance-class mindset.

* Connect with parents. A letter home welcoming parents and students to the program and outlining behavior, preparation and clothing expectations gets parents involved in their childrens’ dance experience right away. “At the very beginning, if a student doesn’t come prepared, I send a letter home to let the parents know that I noticed,” Nery Fragoso says. “I really want to set the tone so that the child and the parent take dance seriously.”

* Establish rules and signals. “We go over the rules and make sure they know that they’re not my rules, but our rules, and that they are there to keep them safe in the studio,” Nery Fragoso says. This includes paying attention to classroom drum signals. Her students learn, for example, to respond to a five-beat rhythm by clapping twice, putting their hands on their heads and listening for instructions. Nery Fragoso teaches these drum signals at the beginning of the year so that they become second nature. “Months later, I can use my drum signal,” she says, “and 28 fourth-graders are quiet in a second.”

* Review your teaching model. Nery Fragoso’s curriculum at PS 315 uses a teaching model based in Laban Movement Analysis, an approach that introduces a progressively complex movement vocabulary. “We do a lot of improvisation in the beginning, reviewing descriptive words, space, levels, relationships, following and mirroring,” she says. “Whatever they study later, that needs to be in place.” If she taught a particular group of students the year prior, she can move forward with new concepts quickly, after just four or five sessions. If it’s her first time with students, she spends an extra couple weeks going over basic vocabulary.

JUDY KIRJAN

School: Kurjan has taught K–12 dance for three years and currently teaches Pre-K through fifth grade at Edgewood Elementary School in Baltimore, Maryland.

At the beginning of the school year, Kurjan, who teaches in a low-income area, finds that her students are enthusiastic and rambunctious. Her primary challenge is using and guiding that energy in the classroom.

* Rein in the energy. Kurjan’s first month of classes is very structured, with a focus on establishing classroom procedures and teaching a warm-up. During this time, she finds energy-consuming games are a lifesaver. “I usually start with great music to get them involved,” Kurjan says. Sometimes she appeases their requests for hip-hop music, but she also tries to introduce new music and has found great success with electronic music and The Beatles.

* Get students excited about dance. Kurjan entices students by calling basic activities “games.” “The kids tend to respond better if I say, ‘This is the skipping game’ or ‘This is the locomotor game’ or ‘This is the axial movements game,’” she says. “They think, ‘Oh, we’re playing now!’ instead of ‘Oh no, I have to do work.’”

* Meet kids at their level. After a few introductory classes, Kurjan’s third-, fourth- and fifth-graders begin an ongoing project that combines drawings, collages, writing and choreography to illustrate their definitions of dance. First, she breaks students into small groups to brainstorm through writings or drawings. Then, each group decides on their brainstorm’s main theme and creates a group dance inspired by that theme. Finally, students respond to the process by making individual collages using photos and words clipped from dance magazines provided by Kurjan. The project allows her to understand her students’ perceptions about dance, which she can use as a springboard for future lessons. DT

 

Ashley Rivers is a freelance writer and dancer in Boston. She is currently a Calderwood Fellow in writing at Emerson College.

Photo courtesy of Deb Mata

Studio Owners
Megan McCluskey, courtesy Lown

Door-to-door costume delivery. Renting a movie screen to screen your virtual showcase as a drive-in in your parking lot. Giving every dancer the chance to have a private, red-carpet experience, even if it means sanitizing your studio 20-plus times in one day.

While these ideas may have sounded inconceivable a year ago, they are just some of the ways studio owners got creative with their end-of-year recitals in 2020.

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Higher Ed
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As we wade through a global pandemic that has threatened the financial livelihood of live performance, dancers and dance educators are faced with questions of sustainability.

How do we sustain ourselves if we cannot make money while performing? What foods are healthy for our bodies and fit within a tight unemployment budget? How do we tend to the mental, emotional and spiritual scars of the pandemic when we return to rehearsal and the stage?


The pandemic has highlighted this shared truth for dance artists: While we've been trained to dedicate our lives to the craft of art-making, we lack the knowledge to support ourselves when crisis hits. While we may have learned much about performing and creating dance in our college curriculums, most of us were not taught the answers to these questions of sustainability, or even those that come up in the normal life of a dance artist, like how to apply for a grant. Indeed, even before the pandemic, far too many dance artists faced abuse, harassment, mental health challenges, financial stress and other issues that they weren't equipped to deal with.

In 2017, inspired by the fact that dance curriculums so often hyper-focus on making and performing art but leave out the task of supporting an artistic life, choreographers David Thomson and Kate Watson-Wallace created The Sustainability Project, which seeks to create and expand discourse addressing the gap between technical and performance knowledge, and the knowledge that supports a healthy, sustainable life.

Since 2018, The Sustainability Project has been offered as a course called Artists' Sustainability at the Pratt Institute's Performance & Performance Studies graduate program, open to students of all disciplines at the undergraduate and graduate levels. The course incorporates goal-setting workbooks, discussions and projects that model artistic life postgraduation, like getting a grant funded, complete with artistic statements, proposals, budgets and a panel review.

Pratt isn't the only school to begin addressing this hole in their curriculum. At Shenandoah University, for example, Rebecca Ferrell has students in her first-year seminar for dance majors create personal and artistic budgets, and identify their personal and professional support systems.

We still have a long way to go, however, until this kind of learning is embraced as an essential part of any dance curriculum. Thomson says that while dance artists and students have embraced The Sustainability Project, school administrators have been reluctant to incorporate life-learning courses into their programs.

But if college isn't the time for this learning, when is the time? The fast-moving, demanding and exhausting life of an artist often does not leave space to learn new skills, such as balancing a budget, conflict resolution or creating a nutrition plan. And without these tools, dance artists often won't be able to put to use the artistic skills that their college programs focused on. (You can't show off your great training if you haven't been taught how to find a job, for instance.)

As the dance field struggles to survive the pandemic, it's more important than ever that dance education demystifies the working life of dance artists. Dance students are already taught to prevent injuries for the sake of their body's sustainability. Let's start thinking of dancers' careers the same way. As Thomson put it, "Would you send your child out into a snow storm with a pretty coat, hat and scarf without any shoes?"

Teachers Trending
Cynthia Oliver in her office. Photo by Natalie Fiol

When it comes to Cynthia Oliver's classes, you always bring your A game. (As her student for the last two and a half years in the MFA program at the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign, I feel uniquely equipped to make this statement.) You never skip the reading she assigns; you turn in not your first draft but your third or fourth for her end-of-semester research paper; and you always do the final combination of her technique class full-out, even if you're exhausted.

Oliver's arrival at UIUC 20 years ago jolted new life into the dance department. "It may seem odd to think of this now, but the whole concept of an artist-scholar was new when she first arrived," says Sara Hook, who also joined the UIUC dance faculty in 2000. "You were either a technique teacher or a theory/history teacher. Cynthia's had to very patiently educate all of us about the nature of her work, and I think that has increased our passion for the kind of excavation she brings to her research."


Coming off a successful choreographic and performance career in New York City and a PhD in performance studies from New York University, Oliver held her artistic and scholarly careers in equal regard—and refused to be defined by only one of them. She demands the same rigor and versatility from the BFA and MFA students she teaches today—as in this semester's aptly titled Synthesis, a grad class where students read female-authored memoirs (Audre Lorde's Zami, Gabrielle Civil's Swallow the Fish) and then create short movement studies from prompts based on a memoir's narrative structure or content. It was Oliver, too, who advocated that grad students should be required to take at least one class outside of the dance department, as a way of guaranteeing a cross-disciplinary influence on their studies.

Oliver, wearing black pants and a green shirt, dances on a sidewalk outside a building

Natalie Fiol

But alongside her high standards, Oliver has also become known for holding space for students' complexity. "I have a tendency for a particular kind of disobedience or defiance, and people usually try to punish that," says Niall Jones, who graduated from the MFA program in 2014 and has also been a performer in Oliver's work. "But Cynthia finds a way to see and attend to what's really happening in that posture. She has a capacity to listen. There's a space for otherness in her work and in her teaching, to allow people to step into different ways of being."

Though Oliver's role at the university has undergone some shifts over the last few years, the connection between her work and her art remains a thread through everything she does. Three years ago, she began splitting her time between the dance department and the Office of the Vice Chancellor for Research, where she helps scholars and faculty in the humanities and arts find support for their research. And over the summer, Oliver was named a Center for Advanced Study professor, an appointment that she'll hold until she retires, which comes with an annual research stipend and the chance to engage with other scholars across campus.

I sat down with Oliver over Zoom to pick her brain about how she crafts her legendary syllabi and what it's been like to watch dance academia slowly embrace her approach.

Oliver sits at her desk, surrounded by books and papers, leaning forward onto her forearms

Natalie Fiol

What's kept you here at Illinois for 20 years?

I came here as an experiment. I had been an independent artist in New York for many years, and I intended to continue doing that, because that was a life that worked for me. But at the same time, I would have these periods where I thought, "What am I doing?" During one of those periods, I went to grad school for performance studies. As I was finishing up, Renée Wadleigh, who had been my undergrad teacher [at Adelphi University, before Wadleigh joined the UIUC faculty] reached out to me and said, "I've been following your career. If you ever think about teaching at a university, consider Illinois." [My husband] Jason and I decided to try it for three years. We always felt like we could go back to the city if we hated it.

Many of us think: "I'm going to go into the academy, and my career will be over." It doesn't. It might amplify it in certain ways, and it might ebb and flow. For me, I needed that ebb and flow, so I could recover from a really active period and then focus on my writing and teaching for a period. It's a different kind of intellectual engagement. That's what's kept me here.

How has your approach to pedagogy changed over your time here?

In New York, I had a class that I would teach that generally was offered to other professionals who were preparing to go to rehearsal. In the academy, I had to learn a different kind of teaching, and that's where my real education started around pedagogy.

I realized that I could either continue in a kind of dominant aesthetic vein, or I could figure out what I had to offer that was different from what the students were getting from my peers in the department. So that's what I did. I called on my Afro-Caribbean background, my club dancing background, my time with Ronald K. Brown and Baba Richard González, my growing up in the Caribbean. I started to pull that material into a structure that reflected the values that I have around community and bodies being together—people understanding a depth of engagement that is not immediately Eurocentric. There was space to do my own investigation here, to think about my own pedagogical aesthetic and cultural interests, and incorporate them in my teaching. That's also what keeps me here. I can continue to question and shape and change according to certain values and attach those to my research interests.

Oliver stands in her office, leaning back against a filing cabinet and smirking at the camera

Natalie Fiol

I've always assumed that the seminars you teach in the grad program are so writing- and research-intensive because of your experience getting your PhD in performance studies. Is that true?

I have a strong intellectual interest. My experience going into performance studies enriched my practice in ways that I could not have imagined. I remember what it felt like to have all of those pistons firing while I was making work. It was overwhelming, it was stimulating, it was exciting. I wanted to cry, I wanted to scream—all at once. I think I offer that to our program. There's also my insistence on the cross-disciplinary requirement in our program. You all have to reach outside of the department to engage with other intellectuals and creative practitioners across disciplines to inform your own.

There are grad students who have cursed me for bringing that kind of rigor. But my experience in the field has been about my being able to talk about my work in-depth—about the choices I make, about epistemologies around it, about world views, influences, all of that. In order to do that convincingly, you have to have a foundation. I want you all to be legit, to know what it is you're talking about your own work in relation to. And that comes from an intellectual heft.

The syllabi you create for the grad classes are incredible. They're so thoughtful, so detailed, so well-crafted. How do you do that?

I work on my syllabi like I work on my choreographic projects. I piece these bad boys together over time. I do not do it in a rush. I take notes. If I come across something—a scholar, what I've read, what someone said—I'll jot it down. Eventually, I'll pull all of those notes together. That's when it gets exciting. There's always something serendipitous about it.

There are people who don't see the labor that goes into my class. And that's when I say, "OK, I'm going to reveal the bones of this in a way I wouldn't, ordinarily." For example, in a course I'm teaching this semester, I only used texts by women. I didn't walk in and announce it—"Well, if you would notice, all of these authors are women"—I just did it, because, for me, that was a feminist act. Because that's how a white, patriarchal voice works: It presumes authority, and it offers you this information—and you are supposed to take it, as if that's the law of intellectual curiosity, of how one should think.

Oliver, in black pants and a green shirt, dances in a grassy area by a street. She leans to the side, her arms swaying beside her

Natalie Fiol

Your longtime approach is finally being picked up by dance programs across the country that are slowly decolonizing their curriculums. Does that make you feel excited? Relieved?

There's a part of me that is tired, to be honest. Because artists of color have been doing this work for a really long time—that labor has always rested on our shoulders. I have to resist any moments of cynicism and really be willing to just seize the moment and work with folks to make the changes happen. I don't know that America as a whole is ready for it, but it feels like institutions are finally ready to look at the ways inequity has historically been established and continues through the systems in place.

So how do you combat that feeling of tiredness?

I think by seeing things happen, by seeing change—seeing more students of color in our program, for example. I'm excited that I have two additional colleagues of color [associate professor Endalyn Taylor and assistant professor C. Kemal Nance] on our faculty. We're not a perfect situation, but our department head, Jan Erkert, has made this a priority. That makes it easier to make people feel more welcome. At the same time, you have to understand that if you change your curriculum to be more inclusive—as it should be—you also have to be nimble and responsive to what the needs are of that diverse community. Those are the growing pains that have to happen.

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