I still remember walking into the African American Arts Institute on campus. It was amazing to me that there were multiple African American ensemble groups and equally amazing that I had never heard of them until I saw the flyer! In the studio for the audition was the first time I had every been in a dance studio that was majority people of color. Whereas I was usually the darkest one in the ballet studio, here I was on of a handful of multiracial folks with lighter skin! I was immediately captivated by the energy in the room.
I had always loved modern dance which takes a lot of influence from African dance modalities. I was even torn between which genre of dance to pursue many times throughout my training. The summer after I was at NCSA, when I was training at the American Ballet Theater satellite program in Alabama, we had a guest modern faculty member. She saw me taking class on stage and found me immediately afterwards. Asking where I trained, she offered me a position in the modern dance program at the very school that had not wanted me back, NCSA. It was a funny moment when I told her as much to which she replied, “Well, you know, your body…”
How I thought I could hold my own with an African American Dance Company, I’m not sure, but my body moved in ways it never had in that audition! What I mainly remember is the support in the room. At the end of the audition, the incredible director Iris Rosa did something unexpected. She turned on the music and we were invited one by one to come out and show her what we could do. I was so nervous, being back in an audition, even though it was not ballet or modern. But right as the music started to crescendo, I couldn’t hold back. I did a huge circle of pique turns around the studio and ended with a grand jete. Everyone was clapping and yelling words of encouragement! It was life-changing.
I went on to spend two years performing with the IU African American Dance Company. It was a beautiful way to rediscover dance and to appreciate all bodies and all levels of training telling a story together. And the story we told, one of the Black experience, carried so much more significance than the old European ballet fairy tales I was used to telling. Our performance that first year followed the journey from the slave trade to apartheid to finding community in church to the Civil Rights movement. I still remember the choreography from our last piece, “Right On Be Free!” And I still remember almost laughing out loud when I first stepped on the stage and the whole audience was screaming encouragement at us as we danced. Never before had I experienced an audience like that and it was amazing!
I learned so much as a member of the African American Dance Company. New ways of moving my body. New ways of appreciating my body. New ways of connecting to others. New ways of appreciating and supporting others. And probably most significantly was that I loved using dance to tell meaningful truths. Even though I was still a wandering soul and still spending too much time at the local dive bar, that company changed my life. It was the beginning of learning how to heal so many dance wounds.
One piece, a duet Professor Rosa choreographed and performed, talked of her immigrant experience as an Afrolatina “Ni de aqui, ni de alla.” I think it might have been the first time my dad really lit up at a dance performance. And it gave me a glimpse into what he never talked about, but definitely experienced as a Honduran immigrant. It illuminated some of his frustration with me seemingly wasting my privilege. I remember Professor Rosa telling me, “You need to go visit Honduras.” In many ways, the very thing he and my mom wanted to create for me was also hurting me. In many ways, I identified at that point more with my Long Island millionaire friend who just couldn’t get his act together and was mostly wasting his time at school drinking and smoking. The Black and Brown folks I danced with were not the ones having identity crises and trouble getting to class. They were succeeding academically and fully applying themselves (even if they did party occasionally). They were not losing themselves.
After another year filled with drama, poor grades, and a lack of direction, my parents were rightfully unwilling to send me back to school. They had tried everything short of hiring a private chaperone to try to help me. It wasn’t working. They had moved to be closer to Chicago where my dad was working right before my Freshman year and by this time had moved to Pennsylvania for my dad to take a new position. It was time for me to pack up my things and come home to recoup. I left a trail of unfulfilled potential in Bloomington, Indiana and looked to what might be next in Lancaster, Pennsylvania.
For me, the way to recover became religiosity. I was so depressed and so full of shame and the evangelical church offered me structure and hope. There were some more bumps and bruises including but not limited to: a former alcoholic boyfriend driving overnight from Indiana to show up at my parents’ house and try to win me back; an unfortunate incident where I totaled my dad’s BMW while leaving a concert in Philadelphia at 2 AM; and a final breakup with the drummer.
What became my grounding force aside from my recommitment to the church and obsessive writing was a studio that no longer exists, The New Movement Center. I remember looking in the yellow pages when I first moved to the area to find a place to take class. The community at the New Movement Center led by a former trainee with Martha Graham, was a life saver. Through my deep depression and recovery from so many self-destructive patterns I was able to take classes there, to make new friends, to choreograph and perform. That studio became my community. And that community stood by me and supported me. They still do.
I eventually made my way to Millersville University where I served as Editor-in-Chief of the literary and art publication. I became a student worker in the English Department. I performed in a play. I discovered a love of linguistics and literary criticism. And I took classes through their exchange program at Franklin and Marshall College. There I got to dance and choreograph for the F&M Dance Company. I performed in an opera. I took experimental fiction where I integrated dance into writing. I was still extremely depressed and almost trying to hide. But I had a safe environment to rediscover my love of learning. I began to rebuild my confidence in my abilities. It was validating that the local dance community (many of whom had performed with major companies) saw value not only in what I had to offer as a performer, but as a creator.
It took me an extra year, but by the time I graduated, I had raised my GPA to graduate with honors. I had connected with some amazing academics and I was teaching at a local studio. I was rebuilding, again. I wasn’t sure what my next step was, but I couldn’t help thinking that maybe I could be a professional modern dancer after all. I went to a workshop with a small company in New York that summer, hoping they would ask me to stay, but never talking with them about what I hoped for my future. The studio remained an area where I was almost intellectually infantilized. I had never learned how to ask for feedback or advice. I was still waiting for someone to tell me I was good enough.
I went home to my nannying job worried about the next step. I poured over graduate school applications, but couldn’t decide what I would go to school for. Dance? Creative Writing? Education? In many ways, I was treading water. And that summer I literally was swimming in my parents’ pool with some interesting guys from church. One of whom, would become my husband. I was lucky to get a job by the end of the summer so that I could have insurance. At this point, I had been on and off antidepressants and mood stabilizers since I was 16. I had regularly seen a therapist and knew that I needed to continue. I thought I might go to graduate school for global and International education, so I got a job in an international studies department at Dickinson College. And a year later, I married Andrew, a youth pastor. Life started to look very different.
Marie’s Move It Story Part III 