In Dance

Photo by Isabelle Duffy
[ID: Six fat-identified dancers wearing bright, colorful clothes, dancing in a dark studio with colorful disco party lights reflecting on the walls and floor. The dancers have their hands up as if putting imaginary crowns on their heads.]

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Editor’s Note: Kat Koenemann is Dancers’ Group’s General Manager and Alex Tiscareno is a Dancers’ Group Administrative Assistant. Their paths crossed through their fat-positive advocacy.

Content notice: Includes references to anti-fat bias and eating disorders. If you or someone you love may be suffering from an eating disorder, go to nationaleatingdisorders.org/help-support for support.

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KAT: I’m so excited we’re working together at Dancers’ Group. It’s wonderful to meet another dancer/teacher in a bigger body who is also making space for bigger bodies in dance. I identify as a fat dancer. I use “fat” in a neutral, even positive way, and it’s been liberating. The word can carry a lot of weight (pun intended), but our discomfort with the word “fat” can be illuminating!

ALEX: It’s really nice to see dancers who have a similar body type to me. I’ve always identified as plus-size or bigger-bodied. More recently, I opened up to describing myself as a fat dancer once I started my thesis work, which, as you know, was about how anti-fatness affects the dancing body.

KAT: That is such important work! I have also shifted from body positivity and trying to “love my body” to confronting anti-fatness and seeing the bigger picture: ALL bodies deserve respect regardless of size, skin color, ethnic background, gender, sexuality, age, health or ability status. It’s not just about self-love, it’s about human rights. We’ve been treating fat people terribly, and weight-stigma intersects with other marginalizations to keep people disempowered.

ALEX: Absolutely! For a long time I hated my body because of the hatred I experienced in dance spaces; it took its toll. During my research, I read the book Belly of the Beast: The Politics of Anti-Fatness as Anti-Blackness by Da’Shaun L. Harrison. In it, they reject this idea that loving yourself will solve anti-fatness. They describe the body-positivity movement as a mask to the violent idea of thinness, robbing us of fat liberation. This stuck with me.

KAT: We’re told to love ourselves, but with conditions!

ALEX: Exactly! Dancers are subjected to high rates of disordered eating, so as I worked though my own relationship with food and my body, I began to examine my own internalized fatphobia. It made me want to share the stories of myself and others, which is why I opted to use interviews of dancers in bigger bodies within my thesis work. Fat dancers often are discredited when we draw from the fatphobic treatment we’ve received. I wanted to show that this treatment is still prevalent within the dance community. It’s great to connect with you, because you are actively fighting for fat liberation and joy in dance. Can you say more about what you do?

KAT: I teach weekly classes at Hipline studio in Oakland. They are low impact, high energy, follow-along dance classes that center expression and joy. I’m also the studio’s Body Empowerment Consultant, helping our studio follow through on our commitment to combat anti-fatness and empower bodies of all shapes and sizes.

ALEX: That is wonderful!

KAT: I also teach a monthly dance class for fat-identified folks called Big Thick Energy, which started in July of 2022. I was afraid no one would show up, but every class has been packed, with a waitlist!   The class has been such a joyful and healing space. It’s been transformative for the dance studio. We now have more body diversity in all the classes. It’s beautiful!

ALEX: I completely agree. We need more dance spaces that actively commit to making this radical transformation. Da’Shaun L. Harrison writes, “In order to destroy anti-fatness and anti-Blackness, we must destroy Desire, Beauty, Thinness and Whiteness.” They are referring to the meaning that society assigns to each of these words and who benefits from them—white, cis-gendered, thin and able-bodied individuals. In order to advance body inclusivity within the dance field we have to destroy this oppressive system and reimagine a world where everyone is valued equally.

Sabrina Strings wrote a book called Fearing the Black Body: The Racial Origins of Fat Phobia where she talks about how fatphobia is rooted in racism against Black bodies, particularly Black women. The Black Dancing Body, written by Brenda Dixon Gottschild, dives deeper into how this manifests and affects Black dancing bodies. These authors and texts have been crucial in my fat liberation advocacy work. I am a queer, white Latina who has been treated horribly because of the size and shape of my body. Still, it will never come close to the severity that Black and Brown bodies go through on a daily basis. My work is only scratching the surface and is only my perspective, which is still very privileged comparatively.

KAT: These are essential resources. I also have privilege as a white, cis-gendered, mostly able-bodied person. Even my relative size as a 2x/3x woman gives me privilege over larger fat folks. We should all be listening to and learning from people in the most marginalized bodies. Larger fat, Black, Brown, Indigenous, Disabled and Queer activists have been doing this work for a long time.

ALEX: Absolutely.

KAT: It’s not a coincidence that the most anti-fatness I’ve experienced in dance has been in very White spaces, where the emphasis was on perfectionism, uniformity, and strict technique—all values rooted in White supremacy. A big part of this work is re-evaluating what we merit in dance. I don’t want to see dancers that look exactly alike with the same body type and technique. I want to see authenticity, creativity, embodiment, joy and expression.

 

ALEX: I’m glad you mentioned embodiment. There is this big push in the dance community for more embodied practices like somatics, a field of movement practices that emphasizes internal physical perception and experience. However, when you look at who is getting credit for this idea, it’s white individuals. These practices are not new. Black, Indigenous and other People of Color have been practicing “embodiment” for centuries. Dance has given us a “codified” method of healing but it is still a luxury that is afforded to white, cis-gendered, able-bodied individuals. I’ve written about how I think this could be radically overhauled in my thesis. What have you noticed in your work about how we, as individuals who benefit from this system, can begin to dismantle it?

KAT: Wow. That is real. “Embodiment” should be our natural state! In a capitalist system so much is taken and sold back to people. Our bodies become projects that are never complete, and the powerful tool that disempowers us from opting out of these systems is shame. It’s overwhelming to fight an entire system, but we can begin with ourselves. We start by unlearning the idea that some bodies are more valuable or morally better than others.

In a dance studio, owners, directors, teachers, choreographers, and staff need to be doing intentional work to challenge their own biases, including anti-fat bias, as well as offering resources and training for staff and dancers. In addition, a crucial safety measure for all movement spaces is to educate about eating disorders. They are more common and dangerous than folks realize, and they affect people of all sizes.

I strongly suggest keeping diet-talk and negative body talk out of the dance space. Conversations about personal eating choices (weight-centric or not) can be reserved for elsewhere. Any body talk that uplifts certain bodies or characteristics over others shouldn’t be allowed, including comments about oneself. It’s understandable to have critical thoughts about our bodies, but these should be processed privately, with consent—let’s keep it out of dance space.

ALEX: This type of talk is prevalent!

KAT: It is everywhere! I take a trauma-aware approach. I assume anyone entering my class may have trauma related to their body image—especially fat folks. So I go out of my way to emphasize non-judgement, to center the dancers’ experience. I provide options for dancers to customize movement to their body and remind them that they are the owners and executors of their own body.

As we look at our dance spaces through this lens, we can ask: Who is not here, and why? Are the movements accessible or adaptable? Is there fat-friendly seating in the studio? Is the building accessible? Are the costumes or merchandise available in inclusive sizing? Is there body-diversity in marketing materials? Are there other types of diversity in the space (ethnicity, race, gender expression, sexuality, age, ability)? Will people of all shapes and sizes feel comfortable and included?

Our society is anti-fat, so our spaces will be, too, unless we work on it. We won’t be perfect, but we should start somewhere.

ALEX: I was “raised” in modern and contemporary performance spaces, so these values hold a lot of weight to me. I was always told that because I was fat, I would never be a professional dancer or that I would make companies look “trashy.” I was encouraged to get weight loss surgery and graphically told how disordered eating would benefit me and make me “hireable”. Even in the Bay Area, people have told me that not all inclusion is good inclusion and that “fat dancers just can’t do what other dancers can do.”

KAT: First of all, I am so sorry those things were said to you. It’s unacceptable. I’m glad it didn’t stop you from dancing because we both know that fat dancers absolutely CAN dance.

ALEX: Yes! That is why I’ve pulled my focus more towards the performance side of dance. You don’t often see larger dancers on stage, working with professional companies, or getting recognized by notable choreographers. Someone once told me that they saw a “bigger dancer” dancing for Bill T. Jones and they felt that was enough representation. One time with one dancer isn’t enough. Why is dance hesitant to be body inclusive? Why is dance adamant on continuing archaic body standards—especially when it doesn’t match the collective society it exists in, you know?

KAT: YES. So many dancers I work with tell me they never even made it to the point of an audition because of negative experiences and internalized anti-fatness. I even quit dancing several times.

How many amazing dancers is the world missing out on?

ALEX: Absolutely. I would love to see bigger bodied dancers in a professional setting. I look back at the younger me who felt so alone. I think about what seeing people who looked like me would have done for my experience and mental health. There is an active disconnect between mission statements and the representation we see in these settings. Companies can’t, in good faith, say they are advocating for diversity, equity and inclusion while not including different body types in that advocacy. It shows that there is a lot of work that still needs to be done. It’s not just harming dancers with bigger bodies; it’s hurting everyone who participates in dance.

KAT: That is the magic of this work: It helps liberate everyone. Every person with a body deserves to live fully and joyfully without shame. And I know that for both of us, a full and joyous life includes dancing.

 

Kat (she/her) is Dancers’ Groups’ General Manager, a dance instructor and consultant at Hipline, and a fat liberation activist. Kat has danced for 35+ years and performed with companies in Alabama, South Carolina, and the Bay Area. She lives in Oakland, CA. Find her on Instagram @big_thick_energy_ .

Alex (she/they) is a plus-sized dance artist from Fresno, CA. Since starting her dance education in 2012, Alex has made it her mission to advocate for body inclusivity in professional dance spaces. Recently she obtained her MFA and is currently setting work with her company Aleño Dance Project.

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This article appears in the Fall 2023 issue of In Dance.

Alivia Schaffer and Dazaun Soleyn, Photo by Hillary Goidell
[ID: Two dancers, Alivia Shaffer and Dazaun Soleyn, dancing at Shawl-Anderson Dance Center. The studio has white walls and a ballet barre hung horizontally on the center of the wall. Dazaun is holding his head with one hand and has a soft gaze. Alivia is looking over her left shoulder towards the floor.]

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Editor’s note: Dance Generators is a Spring 2023 CA$H grantee. This article highlights their funded activities and vision. 

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In just under a week I will be dancing with the ancestors—four standing, quilted sculptures called “Quilted Ancestors.” I will be joined by dancers Liv Schaffer, Sebastian Le and Natalya Shoaf, with understudies Mary Jane Agnew and Zoë Quon.

“[We are] sharing physical knowledge…human to spirit, us to ancestors and ancestors to us,” Natalya remarked. Her observation speaks to the creative process that is currently being co-led by Liv, Dance Generators Director and me, Artistic Director of dazaun.dance and Dance Generators Guest Artist.

The upright, intricately woven sculptures were created by textile and visual artist Adia Millett. Adia has woven four large-scale quilts outlined with 12-inch feathers which are draped over 6-foot tall mannequins. The draping of the fabric brings these multi-patterned quilts to life creating ghost-like figures in the space. These quilted ancestors represent both the four elements—earth, wind, fire and air—and viewers’ ancestors as etheric beings. They are part of Millett’s larger exhibition at the Institute of Contemporary Art San Jose, Wisdom Keepers.

For the opening of Wisdom Keepers we will engage in a variety of partnerships: human + human; human + quilted ancestor; human + quilted ancestor + human. Gestures and phrases are built in relation to the sculptures and grounded in the rhythmic syncopation and groove of house dance, and in reverence to the four symbolic ancestors.

Wisdom Keepers explores the parallels and interplays between a craftswoman and a warrior. 

One parallel between a craftswoman and a warrior informing our creative process is the intention of protecting, preserving and building a community and culture; one that both holds sacred the teachings of our ancestors, and makes those teachings fluid and relevant to our day to day lives. Through discourse and imagination we explore how a healthy relationship with an ancestral presence can be reciprocal and ongoing. In some ways these modes of questioning point to an aspect of the soul that is the creative collaboration between Liv and myself.  

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Throughout 2023, Liv and I built work and co-facilitated communal processes with members of the Dance Generators, a group of dancers that range in age from 18 to 91 years old. These creative rituals held the simple, yet extremely potent intention of working together to build bridges in a world divided by cultures, ancestry, systematic oppression, biases and generational differences. We have found that these communal spaces release deep-rooted emotions and generational trauma held within the body. Moving forward, Liv and I are both clear that the next step for us is to extend the invitation to these intergenerational, intentional spaces to members of our community beyond the Dance Generators network. Through the funding of the CA$H grant we are beginning to investigate what that expansion looks like.

We are in the early stages of a new project that will feature three Black and three white artists. In addition to Liv and myself we are working with composers Jordon Dapney and Max Judelson, and the remaining two artists will be older adults. This work will experiment with communal processes and methods that bridge generational, cultural and racial divides while examining and interrupting the whiteness that anchors creative aging opportunities in the Bay Area.

When I think of the lack of creative aging opportunities for Black Folks I think of my grandmother/ancestor Louise Langston. I can close my eyes and be transported back to her apartment in Flatbush, Brooklyn, NY where I hear her telling me stories of how she dreamed of becoming a fashion designer. She could envision designs and she knew she had a creative gift within her. However, she didn’t have access to creative aging spaces like Dance Generators, and she didn’t have the resources to fully express that part of herself. I imagine that the work, spaces, partnerships—the resources that Liv and I will generate through our collaboration—will give elders like my grandmother opportunities to live out their wildest creative dreams.

Even though my grandmother is an ancestor in the spiritual realm, I will continue to give her spirit the space to be as creative as she wishes. This intergenerational collaboration is a practice of multidimensional healing for me. I am excited to continue to brainstorm, improvise, play, experiment with physical material and share space with Liv. To discover ways to do our bridge work with a sense of reverence, responsibility and respect for our ever-changing communities.

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This article appears in the Fall 2023 issue of In Dance.

Photo courtesy of the writer
[ID: Group of women of various ethnicities and ages and one small boy child. Everyone is dressed in casual and business casual attire, faces filled with smiles and laughter. They are all inside a brightly lit conference room with a screen behind them reading “WOCA Women of Color in the Arts.” ]

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Editor’s Note: Andréa Spearman is the Dancers’ Group Artist Resource Manager and represented Dancers’ Group at the Dance/USA conference in June.

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Black people have this unspoken greeting out in public: the nod.
It’s an all-ages greeting that can convey many things, from, “Hey, I see you,” to, “Let’s head out. The environment seems unsafe.”

For Black women the nod can lift into a smile and compliment: “Okay hair!”, “Yes yellow dress!” “You betta walk sis!”

Black women are even more affirming to each other as we move through the professional circles of our lives. That is what I experienced at this year’s Dance/USA conference in Atlanta, Georgia.

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This year’s conference was very, very Black. From Dance/USA’s fearless leader Kellee Edusei to 4 out of 5 of the extraordinary honorees (Virginia Johnson, Judy Tyrus, Nena Gilreath, Waverly T. Lucas, II), to the performances throughout the week.

There were innately Black moments. At the opening reception loud rumblings of African drums filled the room. An older Black woman danced across the stage and encouraged us to grab instruments and join in. There were performances by Ballethnic Dance Company (ballet), Tap Rebels, and CiCi Kelley (hip hop/street dance).

As I watched these performances and heard words of gratitude and honorees’ accolades, it dawned on me how many Black women were in the room: in the audience, presenting on stage, being lifted up among their colleagues. For decades of hard work. Would I be one of them one day?

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I’ve been a dance artist since I was a child.

Dance moved from hobby to profession—from my praise dance beginnings, to my current roles as teacher, choreographer, artist resource manager, podcast producer and more.

As I’ve learned about the business side of dance, I’ve found more women to be impressed by. Black women founding and leading companies. Making waves in the community.

I picture my name in lights one day, just like them.

 

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When I heard Women of Color in the Arts (WOCA) would be holding a forum within the Dance/USA conference, I knew this was my chance to meet other Black women working in white-centered spaces, looking to put down roots and raise voices.

WOCA dedicates itself to transformational change in the arts sector. During the forum we lifted up one another’s work, reflected on the Dance/USA conference experience, unpacked the experience of being a woman of color in a predominately white industry.

The room was 99% Black women. It felt like a homecoming. There was a moment when a rap battle broke out and almost everyone started beatboxing, laughing or hyping up the women on each side of the room.

This room held the types of women I’d seen throughout my entire life:

The OGs—the groundbreakers who took those first steps into ballet when society was telling them nobody wanted to see them.

The Troublemakers—women who brought our heritage to the stage front and center and didn’t take no for an answer.

The Next Wave—my peers, women who are showing our creativity onstage and at the heads of tables. And bringing our sisters with us. The crowns that the OGs labored for placed squarely on our heads.

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As Black women, our crown is essential to our self image. I looked around the room and saw a diversity of crowns: braids, locs, curls, perms, twist-outs, sew-ins, Afros, presses and waves. Hair as dynamic as our goals.

A question was asked by WOCA director, Kaisha S. Johnson: “What are your dreams and what do you need to make them a reality?”

Dreams ranged from hiring a photographer, to creating a youth program, to expanding a physical space, to creating podcasting networks.

Some dreamers had their needs met right there in the room. Others exchanged business cards and promises to connect for resources. It was a moment of connection and community. Minds coming together to conceive and build an arts community that can rise to its fullest potential.

As I was leaving the conference, filled with pride at such an awesome display of culture and leadership, I wondered again to myself, “Will I be one of these dynamic wonder women that lead the way and make a change in our community?”

I’m definitely on my way there.

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This article appears in the Fall 2023 issue of In Dance.

Collage and illustration by Bruna Borges
[ID: A black and white collage with a man dancing down on the right, in the middle there is a woman dancing, on the left there are some women looking at them. In the back, there is an animated illustration in blue and yellow showing movement.]

 

I’m not from a dancing family! But some of the most iconic family memories have come through dance, particularly the Soul Train Line. Like the time Granny almost fell while doing her infamous “Twist”, or the time when my reluctant uncle who rarely attends family events went into his Michael Jackson bag and to our delight gave us some thriller moves. Then there is the newest lil’ addition to our family who is cheered on and ushered down the line for simply walking. One cannot forget the family member that is known for their dancing filled with technique, choreographed moves and even rare dance moves brought out only to declare a dance off when another dancer has joined the line.

The Soul Train Line comes from the popular syndicated weekly show “Soul Train” that began in the 1970s and lasted thru the early 2000s. Soul Train featured Black musicians and most notably dancers that captivated audiences as they made their way down the Soul Train Line. What began as a way to end the show evolved into an essential part of Black cultural celebrations bringing people of all ages and abilities center stage. My family was no different and though we rarely broke out in dance, on cue someone would yell out “Let’s do the Soul Train Line.” Effortlessly the parallel lines were formed, the bravest went to the front and it naturally ended; something I thought innately everyone knew. But after countless failed attempts at social gatherings by someone trying to get the party started. I have come to realize the Do’s and Don’ts of the Soul Train Line in group settings need to be explained.

Get in formation and stay in it: Parallel lines are essential to a successful Soul Train Line! There should be enough space where someone is able to bust a move without busting someone in the head. This is not the Conga Line, wait until the person has reached the end of the line before you start. Unlike circle dances where someone is in the middle and onlookers and dancers alike fight to get to the center. The parallel lines allow everyone to see and be seen.

Move authentically: The Soul Train Line is your moment to shine; Do the dance you finally mastered in private. Feel the beat and work with what you got. I will never forget an event where a woman dropped it low and swung her cane in the air #toptier. Know thyself and determine your comfort level from the sidelines. If the idea of everyone looking at you while you’re dancing causes instant panic, it’s best to stay at the end of the line and high five people.

Do the most, it is expected: It is mandatory that you show out with old school moves and dances associated with the song playing. Then there are partner dances like “The Bump” or ” Kid and Play.” These dances can be tricky and require coordination and finesse. If done correctly you and your dancing partner will definitely wow the crowd.

Don’t skip the line: Now this is very important depending on how turnt up the group is, this might save your life. Whatever you do, don’t skip the line. Your turn will come, I promise. The only exception to this rule is if someone isn’t ready to go down the line and tells you to go in front of them.

Do not repeat dance moves: Unless you’re going to up the ante, don’t repeat moves someone else has done. The Soul Train Line is all about creativity, nostalgia, and originality. No one wants to see the same moves over and over. If you must repeat a move, put some stank on it, add razzle dazzle or something extra.

Keep it moving, literally: The Soul Train Line is a conveyor belt of movement and good times. Don’t stay in the same spot. The goal is to get everyone to the front and down the line. I have seen the epic fail of the Soul Train Line simply because people stopped moving. If you’re scared or changed your mind it’s okay to just step out of the line to keep the train moving.

If you find yourself in this, now rare, group dance, no excuses you know what to do!

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This article appeared in the Spring 2023 issue of In Dance.

Illustration by Bruna Borges
[ID: Illustration shows a wash machine dial with a center circular button and various wash cycles, each with a small drawing of one or two people dancing. Clockwise from the top, the text indicating the different cycles reads: “On/Off. Brights. Quick Wash. Easy Care. Spin + Drain. Delicate. Heavy. Power Wash.”]

 

Heavy Duty

Heart severely stained the day my dad left behind his human shell

A muddy mess of ruin and denial

Unable to grasp the emptiness stinging me to a low hummmmm

Bone aching waves in this whirlpool of breath snatching sorrows

Tumbling from one memory to the next

The emotions ricochet

Soggy and heavy when I think it’s over

The flood is back before my lungs can get air

Rinsed and twisted with a ear splitting feral cry erupting from a place I don’t know

And when it’s done I’m not soggy but still definitely heavy

The pure scent of smiles and laughter diverge

Examining each wrung out piece of me when my heart contracts

Missed a spot

Start cycle again

 

Quick Wash

The feelin’ of warm light signals my eyes to open

I’m not down bad but I ain’t fresh either

i need to shake things up for a quick reset

Slow hustle to the bathroom

Slow hustle to my damn room

Hell I deserve a joint for a treat

 

The music trembles through me I’m moving all of me

My hands wave in the air

I’m whipping my hair

I’m tryna see if I got stallion knees!

 

Hand Wash/Delicates

Oh, Mommy!

Worn out wouldn’t accurately express all this mess

Milk soaked shirts and jammies covered in poop

Food spills as I hurry to eat before those precious cries tell me my time is up

On the tenth day I cried.

Thought it was all under control

The help that’d been promised was hard to find.

So it proved true, the responsibility would be all mine.

I’ve always wanted to be a mom

I had no idea it would beat me through my transition

Giving so much of me that it feels I’d need forever until I noticed me

And when I get that break I’ve been dreaming of I spend it looking at pictures and videos

Reminded that such a beautiful mess needs to be treated with care

Spot cleaned by hand

Brightened up by those wide eyes

A very gentle cleaning seeing those tiny fingers on my chest

 

Normal

It’s a rite of passage

The music wakes you and instantly you wish you could have slept through it

If you don’t leave your room now your mom will be in there any minute doing it for you

Throwing you into the load of refreshing your home

If you stay on top of the mess there’s not much to do

Sloshing around and sudsing down

Before you know it’s you waking your little ones up to shuffle around the home you’ve made

 

Brights

If I could choose my sisters I’d choose these joyous headaches every time.

The first babies I raised

The people I’d go to war for

Yeah they work my nerves but even a global cooties outbreak couldn’t keep me from sharing space with them

Your cooties are my cooties

Teach me the TikTok let’s shake our booties

 

Wash spin repeat

Goes life and all its memories

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This article appeared in the Spring 2023 issue of In Dance.