3 Introduction 4 Dance and Feminism

Based on the Grimm Brothers’ imaginative rendition of Charles Perrault’s story “The Sleeping Beauty,” the ballet brought to life a story about love, danger, and magic. In Act One, the king and queen of a magical kingdom celebrate the birth of their daughter, Princess Aurora. They invite almost everyone from the kingdom: friends, fairies, and other creatures. The evil fairy Carabosse was forgotten and was angry about not being invited. She storms in and casts a curse on Princess Aurora, stating that one day she will prick her finger on a needle and die. Carabosse leaves the king and queen sad and frightened. The Lilac fairy rushes in to combat Carabosse’s spell and casts her own magic, changing the curse, so that when Aurora does prick her finger, she will only fall asleep. She will stay asleep until a passionate kiss from a handsome prince awakens her.

Sixteen years later, the kingdom is celebrating Aurora’s sixteenth birthday. Aurora is running around accepting gifts from everyone, including one from a mysterious hooded figure. After she accepts this gift she reveals she has pricked her finger on a needle and falls to the floor. The hooded figure reveals herself as Carabosse, and thinks that Princess Aurora is dead. She flees, not knowing that the princess is just sleeping. The Lilac fairy puts the entire kingdom into a deep sleep, and goes to find the handsome prince who will awaken them all.

Act Two begins with Prince Desire hunting in the forest. The Lilac fairy spots him and chooses him to be the prince to awaken Aurora and the kingdom. She shows him a mirage of Aurora, and he immediately falls in love with her beauty. The Lilac fairy explains the situation to him and he rushes with her to the castle to awaken Aurora and to ask for her hand in marriage. They finally arrive at the castle and he kisses her. She awakens, along with the rest of the kingdom, and there is a huge celebration.

Act Three is the celebration of Princess Aurora’s and Prince Desire’s wedding. Guests from all over the land come to dance, pay tribute, and celebrate the union and lives of Aurora and Desire.

Gender Roles in Movement and Space

Gender roles in terms of movement and space in The Sleeping Beauty have a few similarities to the movement in Giselle, however there are significant noticeable differences. The most striking similarity is that of the music that accompanied each gender. Whenever the men appear on stage for their solos or their group sections, the music is strong, loud, and replete with drums and horns. When the women are dancing, we hear high-pitched, light sounds, easily connected to the fact that many of the women soloists were fairies. The women are still portrayed as light, airy figures, dancing with quick steps, lifting their legs in the air and hopping en pointe. The men are strong and powerful, flying through the air with big leaps and performing multiple pirouettes. This is an underlying theme of the ballet that never truly faded.

There is a point at which this theme is strikingly obvious, a scene during which women are partnering Prince Desire. As he jumps through the air in a pas-de-chat, one woman is holding his waist, as if to be lifting him. There are five other women in a line behind the first woman, holding on to each others’ waists, as if to be offering support in partnering this strong man. He continued to dance, and the line of women wiggled behind him, engaging in what was supposed to be seen as support. Although the gender roles of partnering were reversed in this instance for roughly twenty-four counts of music, the message was clear: it took the strength of six women to support one man. It was almost used for comedic effect for the simple reason that these women were stumbling and falling around in the line, as if they could barely control him. The women’s support was not meant to be discreet, for the sheer number of women supporting him was distracting enough, let alone the movement they were embodying. Therefore it became comedic, a spectacle, rather than something that is often taken seriously by viewers. Rarely in ballet is the male partner a comedic figure, or an unnecessary addition to the dancer. More often than not, the woman being partnered would not be able to dance alone because of what the choreography requires. Critic Robert Greskovic states when analyzing a partnering section of one of Balanchine’s ballets:

man’s support is allowing this woman to be more powerful, more open, and in my sense of looking at it more beautiful than she could be by herself because she has this…human ballet barre. ( qtd. in Daly 280)

In the famous Rose Adagio section, we see a very different effect. Aurora is presented with four suitors at court, and dances with each one. In this section, she holds on to the hands of the man, is promenaded around on one leg by the man, and then must let go and balance by herself before she grabs on to the hand of the next man. This movement creates an image of the wind-up ballerina in a jewelry box; again, she is being acted upon, while the male dancers act by turning her. Here, her partners are enhancing her beauty, by showing her off like an object of desire. Daly asserts, “pointe work often frames the ballerina as needy of her partner’s help” (285) and it is very clear in this section that their presence is something that she needs in order to complete the movement.

Later on, Prince Desire has a powerful, eight-minute solo. In this solo there is one point at which he strays from the impressive jumps and repetitive turns, and switches modes altogether. He begins to dance a section of Princess Aurora’s solo in the beginning of the ballet, as if trying to reach her, as if trying to connect with her. The transition from mighty and sturdy movement such as the broad chest, powerful leaps and wide stances, into gentle movement with high legs and graceful fuetes, was not only a surprise; it was refreshing to see variation through his solo. Different from the male solos in Giselle, this helped give his character depth, showing that even if a man dances in a feminine way, it won’t take away from his character or his strength, but will, rather, give him more versatility.

Gender Roles in Interpersonal Relationships
Because of the storyline of The Sleeping Beauty, there is not much room to deviate from the hetero-normative relationships at play. However, it is intriguing to see the little differences and progression in these relationships when compared with those in Giselle.

Very much due to the storyline, we see that Princess Aurora’s character must rely on Prince Desire for reanimation after she is cursed. Until Aurora pricks her finger, she is the picture of a classical female role in ballet: she is dainty, graceful, naïve, gentle, and light. However, her sanity and life prior to her fateful curse are not at the mercy of the actions of a man, which differs from Giselle. It isn’t until she pricks her finger that she becomes weak, catapulting into the role of “damsel in distress,” requiring the prince to act as the hero and save her.

Another significant difference from Giselle is the amount of time focused on ballerinas as soloists and in duets in a celebratory light. In Act One of The Sleeping Beauty, there were a number of solos given to the different fairy characters. Because of the celebratory setting in which the women were dancing, their movement and presence are not plagued by on overriding tone that was created to make the audience view the women in a specific way, as with the Wilis and Queen Myrtha in Giselle. These roles in The Sleeping Beauty are more an expression of technical ability than an extreme representation of heartbroken women. It was also exciting to see that their movement occupied a significant portion of the space. At the same time, the majority of the female characters in The Sleeping Beauty symbolize mystical creatures or animals, such as fairies and cats, again creating a box in which the female dancers remain ethereal, light, mysterious, and nonhuman.

The role of Prince Desire is to act as the savior. Amidst the chaos and the turmoil within the castle, Prince Desire’s actions and character remain consistent with the idea of “men as doers.” He comes in to save Aurora from her curse, as well as the entire kingdom, taking sole responsibility for the happy ending.

At this point in time, during the 1890s, Women’s Suffrage movements were gaining visibility around the world. Worker revolts were happening in Russia, and the American Woman Suffrage Association, as well as the National Woman Suffrage Association in America, were gaining momentum. Although the gender roles in The Sleeping Beauty are similar to Giselle in their rigidity, there is a little progress. The fact that Prince Desire incorporates part of Aurora’s solo into his and dances in a “feminine” manner is an important detail: it opens the door for more opportunities such as this to occur. It is also important because it shows that men can embody movement quality that is stereotypically feminine, and they can still be strong, powerful, and beautiful; in short, such movement will not take away from their dancing, but instead, will add more artistry to it. At this point in time, we must acknowledge an important insight: when men show their feminine side, they will not be chastised or looked down upon. By merging the two opposing qualities of feminine and masculine, Prince Desire looks and becomes more human and more whole.

Choreographed by Vaslav Nijinksy, The Rite of Spring premiered on May 29, 1913, at the Theatre des Champs-Elysees in Paris. Unlike Giselle and The Sleeping Beauty, the The Rite of Spring was not, at first, widely popular; instead, it created a huge uproar, leaving the audience angry and almost violent. It created such controversy because it was so unlike anything that had ever been seen before; it was not a full-length ballet with a story of a hero, damsel in distress, and a villain. It was also choreographed to an unusual score composed by Igor Stravinsky. The music received a greater amount of recognition and, later on, was featured in Disney’s 1940 film Fantasia. The ballet, combined with the music, were recognized as a crucial turning point in the history of ballet and music, breaking the rules and introducing a new era of influential work.

There is not much variation in the type of movement throughout The Rite of Spring. The piece is considered to be revolutionary for the dance world because it introduced a new type of dance as performance art. The movement within this piece would be classified, today, as modern dance. It was shocking to audiences for a number of reasons: the inwardly rotated legs, repetitive parallel jumps, sharp movements that matched the quality of the music and the pedestrian movements. This was the complete opposite from everything ballet had stood for until this point, such as the graceful, ethereal woman accompanied by the powerful, strong man, both displaying superhuman flexibility, posture, and turnout.

Throughout Act One, there is a lot of scuffling around the stage in groups, big jumps, runs, and sharp arm movements. Both men and women are dancing these movements; there is no gender divide. In Act Two, there are only women on stage for the first half. Unlike both Giselle and The Sleeping Beauty, they are still dancing the same type of movement that was displayed in the first act: hard, sharp, strong movements. In Giselle, women were on stage dancing for the majority of the second act as well, but their movement was light, airy, melancholic, and gentle. In The Sleeping Beauty, when the women were on stage, they were still confined to the box in which the male gaze placed them. But in The Rite of Spring, these women were given masculine movement; they were exhibiting power and strength, all while occupying the entire stage.

The Rite of Spring was a step towards breaking down gender-based choreography. The first move Nijinsky made in achieving this was through eliminating a storyline that revolved around a hetero-normative relationship. Instead, he opened the door to a new purpose for dance: one that was based more on movement quality and emotion, rather than a story. He also opened the door to modern dance, relaying the message that a woman portraying masculine movement was beautiful, natural, and worthy of being classified as performance art. It showed audiences that women were capable of moving in more than one way, and that they had depth.

Gender Roles in Interpersonal Relationships
Because the storyline was so different than anything that had been put on stage until this point in time, the traditionally gendered storyline took a different turn. In the first act of The Rite of Spring, both men and women are dancing together; there is hardly any solo dancing. The only difference between the men and women is in what they are wearing; the women have long braids and specific face paint, while the men have identifiable clothing. Throughout the first act, their roles are the same: they are there to show their love for the earth. There is only one point where gender becomes important and relevant to the storyline: the wisest elder, an old man with a long beard, appears. He is clearly revered by everyone in the society, as can be seen by how he is presented in the center of the stage with everyone circling around him.

In the second act, gender becomes more important to the storyline. In order for the society to exist, they must sacrifice a virgin to the gods. The second act begins with only women dancing on stage. One woman is chosen as the virgin to be sacrificed and she remains frozen in the middle of the stage while other women dance around her. She is then lifted up to the gods by male dancers who slowly trickle onstage.

The pattern in which gender comes into play throughout this ballet is worth noting. First, the wise elder male graces the society with his presence; second, the virgin female is chosen to die for the sacrifice. What is notable is the gender linked to each description: more often than not, in many stories, the wisest elder of a society is thought to be male. Further, the word “virgin” is often to reference a female, or could be considered to be a gendered word. It is intriguing to reflect on these roles if they had been reversed; if the village elder was, instead, a woman, or the virgin used in the sacrifice had been a man.

These roles could be seen as consistent with traditional gender stereotypes that originated in early western culture. The man is wise and revered, whereas the woman is sacrificed for a sexualized reason: because she is a virgin. However, in many religious sacrificial rituals, the requirements for sacrificial material are nothing short of perfection. Animals offered in sacrificial rituals were to be the best: fresh, young, worthy of being offered to the gods. In order to be sacrificed, food had to be perfectly prepared and presented. In short, what one offers the gods must be god-like, the most worthy, and the most honorable. It is this idea that transforms the virgin sacrificed in The Rite of Spring into a holy being, one of purpose, honor, and importance. This portrayal of woman as a holy being is not far off from the portrayal of woman as an ethereal, majestic being. However, this message is received differently because of the movement that accompanies the message. This woman who is strong, harsh, and dancing masculine movement is not any less important; in fact, she becomes the sole reason that the society will continue to exist. She is allowed to experience her own duality: human yet god-like, feminine yet masculine. The portrayal of woman in this versatile light, at this point in time, is groundbreaking.

Further, it is important to point out the role of the choreographer. Nijinsky was deeply connected and greatly inspired by his sister, Bronislava Nijinska, ballet’s first female choreographer. He valued her dancing and her insight on movement; the role of the “Chosen One,” the virgin sacrificed in The Rite of Spring, was, in fact, rehearsed on her and supposed to be performed by Nijinska herself. It is clear that he valued her very much, and that this deep respect for women translated into his work.

Sociopolitical Context

The Rite of Spring created chaos for a few reasons: the message, the music, and the movement. Kevin Newton writes that the movement in relation to the cultural norms initiated the discomfort for the audience:

Europe was emerging from the relatively conservative Victorian age…to have a ballet that included overtly sexual motions, as well as the allusion to a virgin being given over to the elders to be exhausted was simply too much. (Newton)

gender is a much more complex, culturally entrenched process of representation, which encompasses the spectator and her process of interpretation as well. (296)

As a result of The Rite of Spring, new ways of thinking flooded the dance world. Modern dance became widely accepted as performance art over the years; women such as Isadora Duncan and Martha Graham paved the way for women in the dance world. The dance scene was starting to change, and some of these new modern ideals were translated into ballet, resulting in the wave of Balanchine’s Neoclassical Ballet Era (1933-1969).

George Balanchine’s The Four Temperaments premiered in New York City on November 20^th, 1946. Choreographed on the early New York City Ballet company known as the Ballet Society, The Four Temperaments was one of Balanchine’s ballets that did not have a traditional storyline, and did not involve dramatic costumes or set design. At this point in time, modern dance significantly influenced the dance scene. Female choreographers such as Martha Graham were redefining the rules of dance with bare feet, emotional and angular movement, contractions, and dances based off of social issues. The funnel connecting art and society was stronger than ever, opening up dance to a world of possibilities. The idea that rules could be broken, or redefined, was not only explored in modern dance, but in ballet as well.

Unlike some of his other ballets, Balanchine’s The Four Temperaments was not based on a story. Instead, it is based on the idea that humans are made up of four different humors, or temperaments. Each temperament is connected to one of the four natural elements: earth, air, water, and fire. These elements acted as the basis for the four humors: Melancholic, Sanguinic, Phlegmatic, and Choleric. In each one of the ballet’s variations depicting these very humors, the movement, music, and colors were supposed to reflect the associated elements. There is a group section to begin the ballet, known as the Theme, that introduces the different temperaments, followed by Melancholic, Sanguinic, Phlegmatic, and Choleric variations.

Gender Roles in Movement and Space

Throughout this ballet, the movement and space assigned to both men and women appear to be very specific. In the Theme, the audience is introduced to the temperaments through a series of duets. In these duets, the men partner women so closely that the women cannot physically complete the choreography without the man. In the beginning of the first theme, both the man and woman repeat a stepping sequence where their arms are flipping up and down in a rectangle shape. The man takes the first step, then the woman follows in exact form. He is leading her across the stage, showing her what to do, and how to do it. It is as if she has no creativity or agency of her own to either think of a new movement, or to stop following the man. When this pattern ends, the woman is placed into a series of positions that require help from her partner: always on one leg, her free leg swings like a pendulum, shifting her balance dramatically. In other instances she is lifted into the air, bounced around by her partner, returned to the ground on one leg and then promenaded around in a circle. These motions make her look weightless, almost like a puppet on a string.

This image of woman is consistent in almost every duet sequence throughout the entire ballet. However, when the woman dances alone, without the presence of the man, she is altogether a different dancer. Throughout the different variations, there are multiple solos for the female dancers, as well as group sections. In both the Sanguinic Variation and Choleric Variation, the women soloists display powerful movement. Their entrances are fierce and commanding; in each solo, difficult jumps and large movement propel them across the stage. The energy and presence exerted by these female dancers absorb the space around them; it almost looks as if the stage is too small for how they utilize every inch of their surroundings. Similarly, Balanchine incorporates the flexed foot and sharp, angular arms into these solos, movement that looks as if it is straight from The Rite of Spring itself. It is fascinating to see this modern, empowering portrayal of woman and how these solos are just as exciting to watch as the male solos.

The male dancing in The Four Temperaments is intriguing as well. Although some of the movement is typical for male ballet dancers with the expansive jumps, dramatic por-de-bras and broad chest, the male solos are extremely dynamic, due to the use of emotion in the movement. Some of the men appear to have rubber backs as they continuously whip their head back and forth. This causes them to fall to the ground, appearing exhausted, tormented, and, at times, weak. As much as it is a great display of their technical ability, it shows that by including other types of movement that deviate away from the sturdy postured, strong willed, hyper-masculine image, the male dancer actually becomes even more exciting to watch because he is encompassing the entirety of the human condition.

The ballet begins with the introduction of the themes. Each theme, or variation, is introduced with a duet between a man and a woman. This hetero-normative relationship is established early on, as it is the only partnering format utilized throughout the entire ballet. Because there are not any specific characters, the movement interactions between the man and woman in the duets are what create the story.

In each of these duets, the woman is almost completely manipulated by the man. Placed on a bent leg en pointe, or off center, completely relying on the man for support, the woman is lacking any personal control over where her body goes. She is responsible for placing herself into the position that will then be shifted, tilted, or changed by the man. This image of the woman being placed, shifted, and put on display as the man manipulates her repeats throughout the entire ballet.

Most noticeably, in the introduction, the duet representing the third theme displays this relationship between man and woman to an extreme. At one point, she appears to be sitting in an invisible chair en pointe; he moves her arms for her, as if she is a puppet, and then begins to spin her in circles. She continues, throughout the duet, to do multiple arabesques, in which she is swung off center. She is moved around the axis of her hip socket, as her toe stays locked to the floor. The man continues to switch her positions for her. Daly argues, “in the third theme, that objectified, impassive style renders the woman a prop in perversely exquisite imagery” (284). Here we are reminded of Balanchine’s own words:

The principle of classical ballet is woman…Maybe women come to watch men dance, but I’m a man…the woman’s function is to fascinate men. (qtd. in Daly 286)
A perfect example of the male gaze, we see how she is devoid of her own power, choices, and agency because Balanchine is deciding it for her, based on what he wishes to see. This lack of power and individual choice is even more pronounced because of the movement portrayed by her male counterpart. Daly writes,

Self-assured and impenetrable, the danseur moves…toward center stage with his arms broadly extended…when the ballerina follows suit she steps laterally on both pointes in front of him, but then gently lunges sideways off pointe, with her arms lilting. He is linear and stable; she is curvaceous and inconstant. (286)

However, in contrast to this stark portrayal of Balanchine’s own ideas of femininity and masculinity, we find an opportunity to observe something different. In the last variation, Choleric, a powerful female soloist commands the stage. Not only does she take up much of the stage, performing powerful, quick movement with jumps, multiple turns and sharp legs, she also commands the dancers around her. When they dance around her, it is almost as if they are dancing for her. Both male and female dancers are responding to her movement. At the end of the ballet, she is the only one not being partnered, dancing strongly by herself around the various couples. Seeing a strong female presence command the dancers around her, portrayed in neither negative nor positive light, as well as dancing by herself without the guidance of a man, is indeed empowering. Her character is given more freedom here - than in any other point in the ballet - to be an individual with strength and autonomy.

This dichotomy of antifeminist and feminist movement is fascinating for the fact that it embodies the experience of feminism, culturally. At this point in time, women had become more visible in social and political realms. Women had been granted the right to vote twenty years prior, advocacy for birth control was gaining momentum, and organizations such as the National Council of Negro Women was formed in order to fight against job discrimination based on race and gender.

However, amidst all the momentum, women were still treated as the inferior. Women were slowly being granted more and more freedom over the years, but there were still oppressive forces at work. Novelist Chimamanda Ngozi Adiche touches on this very issue when noting the gender norms conditioned into the minds of today’s generations:

We say to our girls, “you can have ambition, but not too much. You should aim to be successful, but not too successful, otherwise you will threaten the man.”

Balanchine has often been credited for empowering the ballerina. Lincoln Kerstein, co-founder of the New York City Ballet states

Balanchine has been responsible for a philosophy that has treated girls as if they were as athletic as their brothers. He has proved that they can be fiery hummingbirds rather than dying swans, with the capacity of channel swimmers. (qtd. in Daly 284)
While this statement is valid and has proved to be true in certain ballets, Kerstein unintentionally demonstrates the exact issue with Balanchine’s warped idea of feminism: the female dancer’s strength capacity similar to that of channel swimmers and qualities of fire may be very real, but are needed only for her role as a hummingbird.

Balanchine did create new opportunities for the ballerina by generating material that allowed her to be active versus acted upon. However it is important to note that he did so right alongside other material he generated from the male gaze. The Era of Neoclassical Ballet was plagued with this paradox, representing the changing, divided thought regarding equality of the sexes experienced socially and politically.

Today, the dance world has expanded into a culture with many different subtypes. The world of modern dance alone has several branches of technique, including free-release, Cunningham, and Limon, to name a few. Ballet has expanded with a new branch known as contemporary ballet, which originated during George Balanchine’s Neoclassical Ballet Era. Hip-hop and jazz dance have exploded onto the scene as well, integrating smoothly into the realm of commercial dance. Contemporary is a fairly young movement, becoming popular throughout the early 2000’s. It is loosely defined as a fusion between modern and ballet that includes improvisation and places importance on the intuition of the individual dancer. Crystal Pite’s company Kidd Pivot falls into this category. She describes her company’s movement style as “distinct choreographic language – a breadth of movement fusing classical elements and the complexity and freedom of structured improvisation” (Pite, 2015). Unlike most contemporary companies, her works encompass a “strong theatrical sensibility and keen sense of wit and invention” (Pite, 2015). The contemporary world embraces many different types of companies and has allowed for movers to explore versatility, to remain undefined, and to experiment.

Partially because Kidd Pivot is a contemporary company, and partially because of the time in which Dark Matters was created, the movement and space allotted to each dancer is very equal. Pite sets up her gender-ambiguous movement by starting out with faceless, genderless, figures. Here the audience is forced to focus on just the moving bodies, the seamlessness of their transitions, the strength needed for effortlessly falling in and out of the floor. It was fascinating to watch for the simple reason that, even though I tried, I could not figure out who was a man and who was a woman. Pite makes the audience aware of the incredible ability of the human body, regardless of what gender it was connected to. Seeing a dancer embody masculine and feminine movement is fulfilling for the simple fact that it encompasses the complexity of the human condition, and the versatility of what is universally experienced. Her message is an important one: that dancing is a human expression, that bodily movement should not be restricted to gender norms, and when it isn’t, the experience it cultivates for the dancer and the audience member is more whole.

It isn’t until halfway through the piece that the hooded figures reveal themselves. There are four men and one woman dancing throughout the group sections; each one of them completely absorbs the space around them. The woman is given the same type of fluid, intelligent, demanding, and physical movement as the men. There is a group section where they all partner each other; they continuously flow in and out of manipulating one another, lifting each other, and pushing each other to move.

What is really beautiful to see is that, even though there is only one woman in this group section, there is no doubt in her ability to match, or even surpass, the men’s strength and movement quality. Crystal Pite focuses on the physical awareness and intuition of the dancer; she utilizes the dancers’ inherent knowledge of their own bodies to create movement that is as fulfilling and felt as possible. It is this approach that each dancer is allowed to be fully represented as an individual; she works to cultivate and manifest the artistic voice of each of her dancers. In this sense, her dancers are allowed full artistic and intellectual agency. Although cultural interpretation of gender onstage will never fully disappear, Pite eliminates gender-specific movement, and the male gaze through the use of the hooded figures, as well as through the seamless blend of masculine and feminine movement performed by each dancer.

Gender roles in the relationships in Dark Matters don’t come into focus until the very end. The most important dynamic within the relationships in Pite’s Dark Matters is that of the manipulator and his or her subject. From the very beginning, we see that the man who created the wooden puppet is responsible for how it moves; slowly the puppet gains strength and becomes manipulative toward the man, demanding his attention, destroying things in order for him to do what it wants. After his puppet kills him, the man is pulled out from underneath the marley floor by a hooded figure, as if symbolizing rebirth. The man tries to stand, to move, but, like a newborn baby, he cannot do it alone. The hooded figure then manipulates his body: the figure lifts him, bends his knees for him, moves his arms, essentially directing him wherever the figure desires. Throughout this duet, they begin to dance in unison. Although they sometimes dance together, it always comes back to the hooded figure manipulating the man.

Later on, the hooded figure walks out onstage alone. This lone, hooded figure is assumed to be the same as the one that earlier manipulated the man, because it is the only one of the hooded figures that performs alone. Slowly, the figure begins to remove the hood, concealing its identity. A woman is revealed, peeling off her clothes until she remains in her nude underwear. She sits down, removing the rest of her clothes and her socks, in a pedestrian manner. Slowly, the man who was previously manipulated by the hooded figure, walks on stage. He approaches her, and they pause, acknowledging each other’s true identity for the first time. Their powerful duet begins with him moving her body, pulling her, guiding her, manipulating her. Their interaction is powerful for the simple fact that their roles have reversed: once the receptor of manipulation, he is now the manipulator. This idea of interchangeable guidance, or action, appears throughout their duet later on. Their roles switch again and again, symbolizing the ever-changing nature of relationships, and a modern approach on relationships of every magnitude: that they are of equal voice and action.

The stereotypical gender roles of the interpersonal relationships we saw in Giselle, The Sleeping Beauty, and The Four Temperaments do not dominate in Dark Matters. Instead, the portrayal of interpersonal relationships revolves more around the equality of space, movement, and emotion, rather than revolving around an ideal image of a man and a woman. The movement of both dancers is strong, powerful, feminine, masculine, soft, direct, fluid, and sharp. Here we see a depiction of the versatility of human nature and the human body, instead of socially constructed ideas that originated in traditional thought regarding the disparity between genders.

Dark Matters is a clear product of the generation in which it was created; the feminist message and movement, as well as the level of visibility in which it was performed, is telling of the progress that has been made. What is fascinating to see is the transformation of values in dance, over the years and across genres. Contemporary movement, along with modern dance, is often seen as the feminist movement of dance, for breaking down socially constructed ideals of gendered movement and performance art. Feminism is described by many feminist activists as a humanist movement fighting for equality of the sexes. In contemporary movement, what is idolized most is the ability to let go, be open and vulnerable, while at the same time maintaining control over your body. This openness is desired because it creates movement that is real, felt, the most reflective of the human condition, and evokes the most connection. This idea of focusing on the human body, no matter what gender, supporting the artistic, emotional, intellectual, and physical agency of the dancer allows for individuality, empowerment, and equality. Dancers are given a certain amount of freedom within the structured movement to explore their humanity, not their gender. It is not to say that gender does not exist within contemporary movement, but rather that it does not define the movement created for or by each dancer, or what the dancer is capable of doing. Crystal Pite, a world-renowned, female choreographer, has either rid her work of the male gaze or reclaimed it for herself and her dancers, and has turned it into a gaze with humanist lenses.

Over the years, the voice of the female dancer grew, physically and artistically. I found this evolution of the female voice to be incredibly inspiring, and absolutely relatable. I knew that this evolution occurred on a macro level, socio-politically, but also on a micro level, individually and internally. I wanted to encompass this dichotomy within my Senior Piece, showing that they are catalysts for each other; in other words, sometimes the starting point for change and growth begins internally, requiring change externally, whereas other times it is the external movement that spurs it internally.

This evolution of the female voice through movement was a recurring theme throughout my Senior Piece, as well as a few other considerations. I wanted to show strength and beauty, two ideas that are sometimes used against each other, to be the same thing. I wanted to show how powerful the image of women dancing together can be, and the power of dancing strong movement in unison. I wanted to have my dancers really move, take up space, and access the entire stage because they could. My Senior Piece did not have a specific storyline, or plot, other than depicting the transformation of volume through which the female voice grew. I chose to focus specifically on the internal to external evolution, but it could also be analyzed as external to internal.

My Senior Piece, titled Sister, consisted of seven female dancers. I wanted a bigger cast, with only women, because I had the powerful image of a big group of women, dancing together. I chose the title Sister because it encompasses many meanings to me: a sister as a sibling, a sister as a friend, or a group of women, a sisterhood. In any context, this type of connection, support, or bond is one of the deepest connections I have ever felt. There is an undeniable sense of strength in having the support, compassion, and love of other women, an understanding and knowing that is unlike any other. I find it is this sense of strength and connection across all ages that is so crucial to the empowerment of the younger generations of girls. I also believe it is this same sense of connection and support that required change, acknowledgement, and respect on sociopolitical levels. It is this sense of community, of support, and strength that I wanted to show onstage, for the simple fact that it is inspiring, hopeful, and empowering.

I began my piece with two women, sitting on chairs, in opposite corners of the stage. The woman in the front left corner was doing the same movement as the woman in the back right corner, except on a much smaller scale. She looked like a muted version of the woman in the back, who was portraying raw, awkward, unruly movement. I wanted this as the introduction to my Piece, to show the juxtaposition between the internal and the external. The woman in the front was representing the External: she represented an extreme, oppressed, quieted version of Woman, an ideal image of years past, one that succumbed to societal pressures of how to be, act, and exist. Her movement was dainty, small, and delicate. She took up far less space than the woman in the back; the space she was confined to was symbolic of the creativity and freedom with which she was allowed to move, think, and be. In a sense, her space represented the freedom the male gaze gave to the female dancer, as well as Woman.

The woman in the back, the Internal representation, was moving on a much larger scale. Her movement was grotesque, uncomfortable, melancholic, and raw; she had no boundaries. Her movement embodied the opposite extreme of the woman in the front: internal chaos, the tumult created from feeling confined, small, or lessened. Her movement was loud, unabashed in volume and meaning. Although very different in scale, the movements of these two women were exactly the same, representing the battle of internal and external, and the duality that lives in every aspect of life.

From this point on, I wanted to create a space where the women in my Piece were allowed to simply move. I wanted them to absorb the space around them, attack their movements with power and joy, and hold nothing back. It was here that I gave my dancers a large range of movement; some of it wasn’t necessarily pretty, but rather, awkward, uncomfortable, and at times, ugly. I also gave them masculinized movement and jumps that displayed strength. To again acknowledge the role of duality, I gave them movement that would also be considered beautiful, feminine, and graceful. I wanted the presence of this duality to be obvious. I also used the costumes to enhance this duality. My dancers wore light pink and white lace dresses; I used hyper-feminine costumes juxtaposed with masculinized movement to show that my dancers were clearly women, beautiful and powerful all at the same time.

This “moving” section began with a solo; slowly other women started to trickle on stage, very blatantly staring at her, and then forming a clump in the back of the stage. It went on this way until the clump consisted of six women while the one woman was still dancing by herself. The soloist performed a strong solo, incorporating movement that was opposite from the delicate, slow movement portrayed by the dancers in the clump. After she finished, the clump started to break apart, in duets and trios. It was as if, after watching the soloist, they took her lead, they were inspired, to gain momentum in their movement, to dance bigger, with more volume and passion. Here, it was the example of the External that inspired the Internal of the dancers in the clump to enhance their physical and artistic voices.

Within this same section, a duet occurred between two of the women that clearly embodied a battle, or a struggle. The role of the instigator continued to change throughout; they were battling each other. I wanted this to represent the shift of power that occurred between the Internal and the External.

Meanwhile, the motif of the Internal and External women in the corners occurred during this section. It wasn’t until after the resolve of the battling duet that this motif returned. All seven women returned to the stage to dance the final group sections in unison; while this happened in the center of the stage, two women would take their turns in the corners, trickling out, and dancing a separate phrase from the one of the group in the middle. As this section continued, the woman dancing in the front, left corner, labeled the External, originally the confined, repressed representative, began to match the volume of the dancer in the back, right corner, the Internal. This evolution of voice in volume, occupation of space, and strength was meant to be symbolic of the evolution of the voice of the female dancer, as well as the voice of the female in society. This section ended with my dancers standing with one arm raised, staring at the audience. They stood strong, present, and in a wide stance that embodied the forwardness and confidence of their gaze. They were commanding the audience to look at them, to see them, and their gaze did not falter.

Throughout my piece, I wanted to incorporate the individual voices of my dancers. I had all of them choreograph a few eight-count phrases to insert into the piece. I wanted to make sure their voices were mixed in with mine, creating a collaboration, a shared experience.

I ended my piece with the women walking forward and running backwards, in and out of each other. They created a feeling like that of a wave, pushing forward, retreating back, but never stopping. In between the forward and backward passes, the dancers would grab each others’ hands, as if trying to pull one another down. Despite trying to be pulled down, the dancers kept going, kept moving, kept pushing on. No matter how many times they ran backwards, and no matter how many times they were almost pulled down, they persevered. Akin to the undeniable force and unfaltering resilience of the ocean’s waves my piece ended on this image, with the light fading out on the women still dancing, evolving, and enduring.