This past weekend I had the honor of being on the judging panel for the B.C. Arts Festival, specifically the Dance Program. Well, there's not actually a program, which I couldn't believe. But the school is home to several student led dance teams. These teams consist of devoted dancers, choreographers and leaders who devote so much time and effort to dance because they love it. They're not getting a grade, they're not getting paid, they do it for the love of dance.

These are so funny. I was about twelve years old. My Musical Theatre Junior/Teen Solo.

I respect that. It takes commitment to do something like that. As I sat there on Saturday watching dance after dance, I was able to fully appreciate what was in front of me because I've been there. My mind was taken back to the good old days of competition team dancing. For almost ten years, I spent four hours at the studio, four times a week. My parents spent thousands of dollars on costumes alone. We went to almost ten competitions each year, not including the national competitions each summer that doubled as family vacations. Dancing like this was my life growing up. As much as I wish now I could've toned it down a little and saved my parents some of that money, I don't regret these experiences at all. Dance teams and dance competitions are invaluable tools.

Growing up with this responsibility taught me so much about technique and stamina, but also about the stage, costumes, people, passion, injuries, thinking on your feet, and it guided me through high school with a purpose: to dance my ass off and get into a great performing arts college, eventually making a career for myself. I don't think I would be where I am if it weren't for Cookie and John and Dance Attack.

That being said, what I saw in the dancers this past weekend reminded me of the aspects of competition that I don't like. You think I'm going to say that people get caddy and bitchy, and the choreography's so typical, but I'm not. My issue with it is the sacrifice of the art for the technical. The mindset of "I have to be the best, I have to win, I can do more turns and get my leg higher" are detrimental to any art form. Art cannot thrive when all these expectations and pressures are leading the way. To be clear, I am in no way saying to forget technique. Technique is of the utmost importance. It's the foundation, the grounding, the place you start. But that's just it. Dancing cannot end at technique. I recall in rehearsals back in the day, my teachers would strive to get more out of us. They understood the art of dance, and were the best translators of it. Dance is not hard just because of the physicality, but because you must do all the physical work, make it look like you're floating, connect to the audience, and transcend.

There was some good work this weekend, specifically a few contemporary numbers. The girls had stunning technique, but that was where it plateaued for me. There was not enough story, not enough passion. All I saw were their legs, their technique. And it drove me crazy. Why is dance an art form if all you can do is show me the work, but not the drive, the passion, what it means to you as a person? If you're fan-kicking your face, it better be for a damn good reason. That's what's so satisfying about great choreography I see on Broadway and SYTYCD. Every step is carefully constructed to act as the vessel for the inner life to come through. (And of course, the performers are absolutely incredible.)

(Left to right) John Culbertson, myself and Cookie Ramos. Love you guys.

Okay, so this is a lot, and it's asking a lot of dancers who may just not be ready to find that connection yet. I had all this stuff drilled into me for a decade before it clicked. Getting everything, including the mind, body, feet and heart, to work effortlessly together is a skill not easily developed. Knowledge and experience eventually lead to understanding, but like I said... a decade. I just wish every teacher and choreographer out there would always explain the why as well as the how.

I guess there will always be some not so good choreographers and teachers out there who just don't get it. And that makes me sad. But I feel fortunate to know that the guys who taught me how to dance and all my teachers and choreographers who've helped me along the way have been artistic geniuses. Here's to them! Here's to art! Here's to dance!

Competition and Art