When phenomenology is true to its intent, it never knows where it is going. This is because it is present-centered in its descriptive aims, accounts for temporal change, and does not have appropriate and inappropriate topics. It might move from Zen to dance to baseball to washing dishes, and even isolate a purity of attention that under certain circumstances connects them all. Phenomenology develops unpredictably, according to the contents of consciousness. This is its first level of method. Its second level develops philosophical perspectives from the seed of consciousness. It holds that “philosophy is not the reflection of a pre-existing truth but, like art, the act of bringing truth into being”. Here I will discuss phenomenology as a way of describing and defining dance, shifting between the experience of the dancer and that of the audience.

Experiential Truth: Phenomenology depends on immediate experience, but includes more. It hopes to arrive at meaning, perspectives on the phenomena of experience (dance in this case) which can be communicated. It is not devoid of past and future, since both are lived as part of the present. Present time takes its meaning in part from past and future. Heidegger described time as belonging to the totality of being, as “the horizon of being.” He chose the vulnerable image of falling to describe the lived dimension of present time. Falling is both a movement and a symbol of our existential mode of being-in-the-world.

Those of us who have made a lifetime commitment to professional careers in dance have come to know the intrinsic rewards and difficulties of this field. Do dance students perceive these same factors, and if so, how are they influenced by them? This article considers these questions through a review of studies of dance students from 1953 to 1993. The research first presented in 1988, “An Interpretive Study of Meaning in Dance: Voices of Young Women Dance Students,” by Sue Stinson, Donald Blumenfeld-Jones and Jan Van Dyke, was the stimulus for this new dance student study and review of recent literature. In the Stinson, et.al. (1990) study the dance students' attitudes toward their future in dance were fairly pessimistic (1). In spite of their deep love of dance and their identity as dancers they felt powerless in a highly competitive field, thought they would never be good enough to be professional, battled constantly with bodies they considered inadequate, and regarded teaching as an activity only for failed performers. This article places Stinson's work in the context of previous studies of dance students' attitudes in a comparative overview of research conducted from 1953 to 1993. This paper also presents the results of a recent study of dance students conducted in nine colleges and universities in southern California.

This article examines the intertwined discourses and debates of classicism, linguistic regionalism, caste, and gender in the case of South Indian dance. By focusing on the dance form, Kuchipudi, from Andhra Pradesh, the first administrative region in India formed on the basis of language, this study exposes the important connections between identity politics and the creation of cultural icons, such as classical dance. This study deconstructs the paradox of Kuchipudi's classicization, as it has become historicized as a symbol of masculine, Brahminical, Telugu culture, on the one hand, and the projects of Indian modernity, which center on the iconicization of the female dancer, on the other.

Through archival, discursive, and ethnographic analysis, this article examines how the construction of classicism in Kuchipudi dance creates and supports hegemonic versions of Telugu history. This focus extends previous studies of Indian classical dance by sustaining questions about the reification of the Kuchipudi dancing body, the implications that this has regarding the fate of hereditary courtesan dancers, and the discursive strategies that allow Brahmin male history and female dance practice to coalesce.

The article analyzes kongonya dance as it occurs in everyday Zimbabwean spaces. Tracing its origins, utility, and metamorphosis, I studied kongonya dance in its performed world; observed kongonya being danced at a pungwe, a gala, and a political function; and watched kongonya being performed on state television. Through participant-observations, respondent testimonies, and personal interviews of dancers and nondancers for all these contexts, pertinent data on kongonya were collected. The article contends that kongonya has both a human and inhuman face, having been transformed from a dance for the people into a dance against the people—a phenomenon at the mercy of political manipulators. Despite kongonya having creatively promoted the nationalist cause of the 1970s Zimbabwean liberation party, kongonya has been abused in the postcolonial state in an attempt to placate citizens, suppress dissension, and (also) in the hopes of reinvigorating the waning fortunes of the ruling party, ZANU PF. Initially, kongonya reflected an apparently more national outlook than an ethnic one, but lately it has revealed rather hegemonic traits. Regrettably, politicians sought to manipulate the malleability of dance and harness kongonya's national character to an exclusionist political agenda.

This article interrogates the multivalent understandings of the term “contemporary dance” in concert, commercial, and world dance contexts. I argue that placing multiple uses of the term “contemporary” alongside one another can provide insight into the ways that “high art” dance, popular dance, and non-Western dance are increasingly wrapped up with each other and, at the same time, the ways that their separations reveal our artistic, cultural, and political prejudices, as well as the forces of the market.

The media attention surrounding Raves in the last couple of years has brought the subject of nightlife and dancing to the foreground of American consciousness. Yet even as dancing and nightlife were enjoying renewed popularity, a national crackdown on clubs was taking place. Almost concurrently, and partly in response to the crackdown, a nostalgia movement arose among the new generation of clubbers for the Utopian ethos of the 1970s and 1980s “Underground-House” scene. These new “Househeads” yearned for the carefully cultivated constructs of the “family,” the “vibe,” and the distinctive styles of House music and dancing—all of which they were attempting to recreate in their parties in 2001. Since the September 11 terrorist attack and its devastating aftershocks, the longing for a safer, golden past has intensified. As eloquently demonstrated by the tremendous popularity during the Depression of escapist movies, in hard times people seek good times and the reassurance of nonviolent congregations.

The promise of critical liberation that postcolonial and transnational perspectives offer by urging us to think the complex imbrication of the global in the local remains an unfulfilled promise in South Asian dance scholarship. I will elaborate this point by describing the global thrust of Rukmini Devi's art and education movement, which could not be recuperated within the territorializing intellectual framework of Indian nationalism, and explain why she, in fact, manifests herself as a discursive failure in standard scholarly accounts of Bharatanatyam in the United States.

Part I: Bharatanatyam manifests itself as a world form today, quite like Ballet, albeit with a different genealogy. It is researched in western academic institutions in the United Kingdom, Europe, the United States, Canada, Australia, as well as in India, Sri Lanka, Singapore, and Malaysia. Practitioners and dance scholars organize international conferences focused on Bharatanatyam all over the world today, and the Dance Studies Program at Roehampton, supported by a grant from the Arts and Humanities Research Board (AHRB), has assumed a leadership role in providing a new, global profile for the dance.

Within this quotation the reader may find a rich description of historical and even contemporary Middle Eastern attitudes toward dance and male dancers in particular, penned from a native point of view. In this article I address those attitudes, but more importantly challenge several cherished, long-held assumptions and theoretical stances expressed by native elites and Westerners interested in Middle Eastern dance and dancers. First, I challenge the romantic views that many gay men hold that the presence of male dancers and the sexual interest expressed toward them by Middle Eastern men somehow constitutes evidence for an environment accepting of homosexuality and a Utopian gay paradise, where the possibility of unbridled sexual congress with handsome, passionately out-of-control Arabs, Persians, and Turks exists. Thus, they crucially confuse gay or homosexual identity with homosexual activity or behavior. Because of this confusion, I use an important aspect of queer theory that counters “the monolithic alternative of liberationist gay politics” (Bleys 1995, 7) to look at the phenomenon of professional male dancers in a somewhat grittier, more realistic light. In particular, I refer to Stephen O. Murray's groundbreaking article, “The Will Not to Know” (1997, 14–54) which establishes a valuable lens through which to view how the vast majority of Middle Eastern individuals regard homosexual acts.

I begin these rather tentative and exploratory reflections by calling upon some provocative remarks by George Beiswanger, from an essay written some years ago and later reprinted:

Though this passage summarizes a view that I shall try to defend and articulate, the attempt to apply the concept of metaphor troubles me: it seems a strained extension of an otherwise reasonably clear and useful term. So instead of Beiswanger's rather mysterious “operation of a metaphor” I shall suggest we employ some concepts and principles borrowed from the philosophical theory of action. But I still like his favored expression for what we are all trying to understand better—those special “goings-on” that constitute dance.

Phenomenology is a method for studying experience. I employ this method in my research because it provides a first-person voice for the dancer, the choreographer, and the teacher/therapist in me. Oddly enough, the critic in all of us already uses a first-person voice when describing and interpreting the dance from our immediate experience of it, and telling others what we think about it. Written criticism formalizes the critic's sensate proximity to the dance. But what about the voice of the dancer in valuing the experience of dance, and the consciousness of the choreographer in making the dance? Where are they accounted for in the formulas for dance research and writing? The objective third-person voice necessary to a particular historical or social angle is more common. Phenomenology has given me a method for intuitive and theoretical reflections on dance from multiple perspectives. Eventually, I contextualize these within the larger framework of phenomenology as a branch of modern philosophy.

I began to write using the tools of phenomenology in 1970 when I became aware that aesthetic discourse on dance was distanced from the actual experience, and that the writers in dance aesthetics, with the notable exception of Susanne Langer, were mostly men. I wanted to use an embodied voice and to see if a woman in dance might add to the field of phenomenology. My interests eventually led me to developmental psychology, a field that has much in common with phenomenology (2). Maxine Sheets-Johnstone had already broken the ice in The Phenomenology of Dance, but she had written more analytically than descriptively, clarifying the formative (creative) basis of dance with values intrinsically located in the moving self (3). I built upon this, but I wanted to weave the intuitive voice of the dancer into a descriptive aesthetics, slipping from the first-person experiential voice to analytical third-person theory, as phenomenology does. These were the goals of my descriptive aesthetics: Dance and the Lived Body (1987) (4). Later I began to explain phenomenology as a research method for dance in my article for Dance Research Journal, “A Vulnerable Glance: Seeing Dance Through Phenomenology” (1991); and in “Witnessing the Frog Pond” (1999), I developed this more explicitly (5).

Over the last century perennial surges in the popularity of Latin American couple dance genres such as tango and rumba in the United States have served as lightning rods for debate on issues of morality, performance, and identity. These “crazes” have fueled the collective American imagination, reinforcing a type of Latin American exotica that prevailed throughout the twentieth century and into the next. Consequently, they have also fostered an entirely new style of performance as white Americans borrowed—or perhaps better stated, appropriated—these genres for their own. For instance, the two styles of tango performed by ballroom dancers today, some one hundred years after its introduction to American audiences in theaters and exhibition performances, is sufficiently distant from its Argentine roots to be considered an entirely different dance employing different movements, rhythms, and musical accompaniment.

This article explores this particular brand of cross-cultural borrowing through an ethnographic accounting of a salsa dance formation team in central Illinois. Salsa is the latest of the Latin dance crazes, and since the earl. 1990. the genre has experienced increased attention from mainstream American audiences who have invested significant resources in order to learn to dance salsa. Formation teams are presentational performance ensembles, in this case combining salsa; ballroom; and staged, theatrical dance, and generally draw their enthusiasts from ballroom dance circles.

What, if anything, relates the dances of the Muslim peoples to the other arts produced by the culture to which they belong? Is there a community of belief and an aesthetic identity strong enough among the Muslim peoples, despite their wide geographic dispersion, that would result in a homo-geneous community of artistic production and appreciation? Is dance among the Muslims an art which, like the visual and aural arts, shares characteristics which reveal a consistency and unity despite regional differences? Or, on the contrary, is “Islamic” only a convenient label for an amorphous body of dance phenomena existing among peoples who share religious beliefs, but among whom little penetrating cultural affinity is revealed in their dance?

Before attempting to answer the above questions, we must call attention to the fact that dance did not play the important aesthetic role in Islamic civilization that it played in some other civilizations (e.g., in Hindu culture, among the Amerindians, and in Western Europe-America during the last few centuries). The Muslims were never able to quite resolve the uncertainty which they, as a people, felt over the legitimacy of dance. There are various explanations for this problem regarding dance. Perhaps all of them can claim some validity.

This article focuses on the work of Squamish dance artist S7aplek (Bob Baker) and the ways in which the assertion, negotiation, and enactment of Chiax (Squamish protocol) is vital to his artistic process and performance. Unceded Squamish territory includes the lower mainland of Vancouver, Howe Sound, and the Whistler corridor in British Columbia. Through an analysis of two of S7aplek's collaborations, I argue that his practice affirms Squamish land rights, epistemology, and hereditary privileges among diverse audiences and collaborators. Grounded in Chiax, these assertions of sovereignty are an embodiment of politics and self-determination that I refer to as dancing sovereignty.

These two comments highlight contrasting approaches to aging for Western theatrical dancers. The first, a quote from movement practitioner Elizabeth Cameron-Dalman, reflects the expectation in Western cultures that professional dancers fortunate enough to have escaped major injury will not stay in their careers beyond their early to middle thirties. Consequently, despite some notable exceptions, there are few mature dancers regularly performing in classical and contemporary dance companies throughout these cultures. This expectation is based on a tacit, naturalized belief that beyond this age dancers' bodies become increasingly unable to cope with the physical demands of performing and that therefore they must retire. Furthermore, this is assumed to be a universal effect, rather than one that is relative to the individual dancer's physical capacities. By contrast, the second comment suggests that dancers can negotiate cultural constraints and continue their dance practice and performance in midlife and beyond.

While some social pressures that influence retirement from dancing might have a direct (although not necessarily causal) relationship with chronological age, there are many reasons why dancers might retire from performing in their perceived prime. Comments from the interviews in my study suggest that these reasons can include financial and job instability, difficulty competing with younger dancers for scarce contracts, and increasing problems in maintaining peak physical condition as dancers age (Leach 1997, 47–49). These are complex issues and at present not clearly understood, but they suggest that age as a stand-alone category or as a means of defining a cohort has little meaning and limited utility in accounting for the cessation of dancing.

Standing at the beginning of a new century, but still faced with what was referred to at the end of the old one as the “politics of difference,” I find myself struggling with the daunting task of discussing extremely complex issues associated with dance scholarship. The issues I refer to revolve around the—all too familiar—divisions of class, gender, race, and other central signifiers of identity that have dominated a substantial part of scholarly discourse in various disciplines over the past two decades.

It is unrealistic to think that the change of the millennium clock has ushered in a new age of enlightenment that will ameliorate the kinds of confrontations over group identity that have, by now, become routine in American society. But it does not seem unrealistic to hope that a new level of clarity can be achieved in scholarly debates involving issues of racial identity and the arts—debates that, in the past, have elicited reactions ranging from indifference, to defensiveness, to volatility.

As an individual who has begun to take an active part in the divisive dialogues surrounding identity, art, and culture in turn-of-the-century America, and as an African American scholar involved in the growing field of dance studies, I have chosen to place issues of race at the forefront of the various identity markers that divide the human family into more circumspect sub-groups. In spite of the progress toward inclusiveness that dance as a performing art and as a field of intellectual pursuit has made, I believe that racially proscriptive thinking still exerts its presence with surprising force in different aspects of our discipline. My realization of the significant role that racial divisiveness plays in our society, our art, and our scholarship greatly shaped the direction of my research and is, indeed, reflected in much of the dance research undertaken by African American scholars today (1).

This article closely examines oral histories of b-boys Aby and Kwikstep, b-girl Baby Love, and poppers Cartoon and Wiggles, and the social choreography necessary to navigate the streets of the South Bronx in the 1970s and 1980s that has an indelible link to four core battling principles as articulated by 1970s b-boy Trac2: survivalism, strategizing, nomadism, and illusionism. By comparing and contrasting foundational elements of battling techniques with life lessons about growing up in the Bronx, the comparison signals the impact of “outlaw culture” within hip-hop, and the counterdominant sensibilities taught in battle cyphers.

In September of 2003, Bolshoi Ballet dancer and media star Anastasia Volochkova, 27, was fired from her job. The main reason given was that at 5′7″ and 110 lbs., she was too tall and too heavy for her partners to lift. Yekaterina Norikova, spokeswoman for the Bolshoi, said: “The problem is that male dancers complained of her height and weight and refused to dance with her” (quoted in Isachenkov 2003). Yevgeny Ivanchenko, her former partner, publicly declared her too heavy to lift, saying that he risked injury in working with her. The Russian newspaper Vremya Novostei used the headline “Not even bears could hold [her]” (Kishkovsky, 2003, A1).

In her interviews with the press, she said that she is in excellent shape and follows a strict diet. “I don't eat ice cream now,” said Ms. Volochkova, who once told a Russian interviewer that she adores it. “I eat spinach leaves and vegetables.” She also declared that “Height and weight are not the test of a great ballerina” (2003, A1).

This article discusses ways that Indigenous dance is an ontological praxis that is embodied and telluric, meaning “of the earth.” It looks at how dancing bodies perform in relationship to ecosystems and entities within them, producing ontological distinctions and hierarchies that are often imbued with power. This makes dance a site of ontological struggle that potentially challenges the delusional ontological universality undergirding imperialism, genocide, and ecocide. The author explores these theoretical propositions through her participation in Oxlaval Q'anil, an emerging Ixil Maya dance project in Guatemala, and Dancing Earth, an itinerant and inter-tribal U.S.-based company founded by Rulan Tangen eleven years ago.

This article argues that the art world's current fascination for dance follows on from a previous high point of interaction in the late 1960s and 1970s, and before that, a moment in the late 1930s and early 1940s. It traces these first, second, and third waves of dance in the museum at three institutions: the Tate in London, and the Museum of Modern Art and the Whitney Museum of American Art in New York. Three institutional histories are sketched, drawing out the differences between their approaches. The conclusion presents the four most pressing possibilities/problems of presenting dance in the museum: historical framing, spectatorship, altering the work's meaning, and financial support.

Dance artists often suggest that working with interactive technology can produce the experience of bi-directionality in which the performer is perceptually aware of the manner in which movement directly produces changes in the performance environment. In addition, it is suggested that the performer can also become aware of the manner in which the technologies affect the dancer's performance. Drawing on phenomenology, some have argued that experiences of bi-directionality call for a reconsideration of the manner in which the moving body interacts with technological devices. I draw on Albert Borgmann's philosophy of technology to examine this approach and argue that it overlooks important issues concerning contextuality and the nature of the technological devices that are utilized in interactive performance.