FESTIVAL DIARYFinding yourself dancing with wild abandon with a group of strangers in the middle of the afternoon is a liberating experience, discovers GEMMA TIPTON
WHEN WAS the last time you danced in the daylight? Or felt the joy of unselfconscious movement without the anaesthetic of a drink or two? Gathered in the function room of Actons Hotel in Kinsale for Arts Week, where more than a few people have gyrated over the years under the influence of alcohol, we’re all a little self conscious.
We’re here for a Dance Concerto workshop, during which, under the tutelage of Laura Murphy and Ailish Claffey, we’ll learn to loosen up, acquire a sense of space and movement, and shortly cease to worry about whether we’re looking like eejits.
It’s an odd feeling, as we stand in a circle, and introduce ourselves.
Introductions are made with the added twist of movement: Patricia waves, and we all wave back, saying “Patricia”. Laura slaps her knee, someone does a little shimmy, another a hand clap, then there is a twirl. By the time it comes to me, I’m out of inspiration, so I pat my head, rather too hard, and then worry about what that says about me. But as everyone repeats the movement back, hopefully without giving themselves a headache, and we add all the movements together, a pleasant feeling of belonging takes over, and I realise that I would have felt more self conscious by not joining in.
Murphy and Claffey both trained at the Laban dance centre in London, and got the idea of the Dance Concerto from Rudolf Laban’s Dance Choirs, which Laban had dreamed up in between-the-wars Germany to get children and non-professionals dancing together. Lest alarm-bells ring in your head at the idea of massed choirs of dancers moving in unison in Germany in the 1930s, it’s worth noting that Laban, an Austro-Hungarian by birth, was an advocate of freedom of expression within the group structure, and fell foul of the Nazis in 1936.
The Government Propaganda Ministry destroyed all his work, and he fled to Britain.
Laban’s idea is much more about the joy of participation, and the energy of generosity to be discovered as you create something larger than the sum of its parts.
Claffey and Murphy have adapted Laban’s ideas, mainly because “people’s energies are different today”. Swooping, shimmying and slapping introductions over, we walk about the room, getting a sense of space, and trying not to bump into one another.
It’s harder than it sounds, but forgetting to think about what you’re doing makes it easier. It reminds me of driving in Italy – it looks impossible and illogical from the outside, but dive in and it starts to make a certain kind of sense. In Italy, it is as if the road is a river, and drivers are a school of fish, swarming and turning, but never getting in each other’s way.
We line up to walk in unison without looking at what the others are doing. Trying to match your breath with the person beside you helps.
Then we mirror one another, dancing. You can’t anticipate, and as soon as I start to think about what I’m doing I get it wrong, although I’m assured there is no “right” and “wrong”, only dancing. I realise, when I spontaneously start to laugh, that I’m enjoying myself, and it’s an unselfconscious enjoyment that comes not from looking cool, or trying to excel, but just from movement.
I remember being told that the body makes feeling as well as being the vehicle for experiencing feeling (it’s that old adage that you can’t be unhappy when you’re smiling coming true).
Geraldine, who has driven in from Cork for the workshop, loves to dance, though she prefers a faster tempo. “I didn’t want to miss this,” she says. “We need more things to entice people to dance.” Geraldine was part of Cork’s record breaking ceilidh during City of Culture in 2005, where nearly 8,000 people danced in the streets, and earned a place in the Guinness Book of Records.
Our workshop followed a morning session for children, and there are also sessions for older people, and all are aimed at any ability and physical condition – so don’t let a stiff back or dodgy knees put you off.
Murphy has worked with the elderly in day care centres, where she is passionate about movement and dance. “They don’t get encouraged to break a sweat any more”, she says of the sedentary life that older people often find themselves in.
The Dance Concerto itself takes place as part of the finale to Kinsale Arts Week, and you don’t have to have been at the workshops to take part. Just listen for the music, and jump on in.
-Workshops today and tomorrow, for times and venue see kinsaleartsweek.com, under the "Participation" heading.
Folded Productions' Dance Concertois at 4pm on Sunday at Short Quay, Kinsale. All welcome.
