RABBIT HOLE shooting was scheduled for the weekend immediately following Thanksgiving break. Choreographers that were available to come join us knew our schedule, dancers were rehearsed, and I had the transportation figured out. Over the break I reached out to Ron, and found out that, unfortunately, he had COVID. Thank goodness it ended up being a fairly mild case (I mean, he felt awful, lost his sense of taste and smell, and was dead to the world for 2 days, but he didn’t have to be hospitalized and was able to quarantine effectively) and after a lot of COVID quarantine math we figured out that he would still be able to shoot on our schedule, as long as he felt ok. But after that I got several emails from students about their own positive tests or exposure to positive family members. By the end of the holiday break, I had 5 dancers that were in quarantine, and by Friday, the first day of our shoot, there were 4 more (that’s 9 people of 26, in case you needed help keeping track. Sigh.) In the middle of all of this, my husband unknowingly became exposed to COVID at work, which wouldn’t directly affect me or RABBIT HOLE, but certainly added stress to both of our workloads that month.

I wanted to give up. It just felt like… is this what we should really be doing while kids, friends, and family members are sick?

At this point, one of our guest choreographers and my good friend from a past life, Ian Howe, came to town to help me with the shoot and meet his dancers. He saw how much I was struggling and just asked “do you think what you’re doing is ok?”

And then I went back to how I started this whole process. Truthfully, the way we set it up the entire shoot would be socially distanced, the amount of people involved was minimal, it was all outside, and everyone would be masked at all times except for the performer when they were performing, distanced from the crew. I even had a method for allowing dancers to remove their masks and receive their mask again without coming within 6 feet of me or any other crew member. Truth be told, this was safer than almost anything else most of these kids were doing, including going to school.

And I also remembered the coyote’s blessing.

“yes, I think this is ok.”

“Ok then, let’s do it.”

Up until the night before and all the way through the first day of shooting I was in contact with students, their parents, our school nurse, our choreographers, and school administrators about our shoot schedule and who was clear to be there and who wasn’t. We shuffled the schedule so that kids that would be out of quarantine over the weekend could shoot on Sunday and absolutely ANYONE that we could shove into the Friday schedule we did, just in case they were to have symptoms later on. We ended up shooting 12 solos in one, very long, very productive day that started with an insanely cold morning and ended with a warm Texas sunset. We got up for a half day of shooting just 7 solos on Sunday, and Ron agreed to work with us for one more half day to get the last 7 in. The students that were quarantined that weekend or not eligible academically would get a later shoot date, I just had to wait and see when the last one that went into quarantine would come out, and once I had that cleared, on a very cold and rainy day in mid-December we finished the final 7 solos.

Looking back, it doesn’t surprise me at all that were able to do it, but at the time it seemed actually impossible, and it was incredibly nerve-wracking. What if someone got sick after the shoot? What if dancers couldn’t handle the workload if they had a positive case? What if we did all this and the end result was… not good? I’m still not really sure how we managed it, but the dancers showed up and did their absolute best and we were left with an insane amount of footage that I was privileged to edit with Ron over just a few days later.

RABBIT HOLE was a fascinating, exciting, and time-consuming process for me, and while I saw and knew the work the dancers were putting in, I was so consumed with the global view of the project that I couldn’t see all the detailed work they were doing. I told them that they just had a minute solo, so they needed to polish it and be responsible for every moment and every detail. They did that and so much more.

As a part of their shoot the dancers not only filmed their solo but also some short phrase work, movement, and acting that would pull all the solos together. RABBIT HOLE begins by showing each dancer in their location and in their character, and they all take a moment to quickly look away from the camera as if someone is calling them from a far-off distance. I encouraged each dancer to think about how to do this in their character, and as I watched each dancer’s “look footage” I saw each of them, through their expression, through their eye contact, through little movements they added in, (the pull of a skirt, the dart of their eyes, the jerk of a shoulder), consider their character and add it in to the moment. I didn’t set that, I didn’t prescribe that, and their choreographer didn’t even really know we would do it. This was completely the dancers’ creativity, and this sequence of looks takes us straight into the series of solos.

RABBIT HOLE ends after the final solo with a combined sequence that shows each dancer performing part of a longer phrase in their location that concludes with them looking across the horizon, making eye contact with the camera, and then walking away from the lens. The dancers had full control of the movement quality they used, their tempo, and any added characteristics they might put into their movement. One of the dancers had a costume that included a red heart drawn on her palm, and she chose to show her palm with the heart as she walked away from the camera. Another dancer twiddled her hands behind her back while walking away, an image she took from her solo choreography and brought back into this moment. Another dancer took a few steps, looked back with a laugh, and then kept walking. Again, no one told these dancers how to do these things. They spent time with this very small, very confined piece of art that they were responsible for, and they created these moments.

Back in October Ron had shown me the “Rabbit Hole” in the park. An area of trees that had a small clearing for a small train track in the middle of it. As the track exits the trees, they are trimmed so that it looks like a circle, like a hole of some kind. I decided to use this location for one of my soloists, who depicts an abstract version of the white rabbit from Alice in Wonderland. This soloist is the first to appear onscreen at the beginning of RABBIT HOLE, is the last soloist, and she ends the entire piece by simple walking away from the camera and toward the hole, and through Ron’s movie magic, disappearing. As we sat to edit to see if these plans would work, we saw the magic that all the dancers and especially our literal rabbit hole moment brought to the screen.

These dancers weren’t afraid of the camera or performing for it. They weren’t shy about being themselves and bringing out their characters. They didn’t complain about the cold or the rain or the uneven ground. They committed down to the smallest detail to their part of this larger movement, bigger idea, and complete project.

We’d never done anything like that before.

A few months later, while Ron was filming something for our theater department, he was back in Trinity Park. And he sent me a text.

“The rabbit hole is gone!”

In case it has not already become clear, I LOVE process. I love project management. I love seeing a huge task, starting with the end, and reverse engineering it back to smaller pieces that head toward our destination. RABBIT HOLE only has a little bit of my choreographic work in it, but it is by far my favorite creation I’ve ever made professionally, and I’m extremely proud of every shred of effort and thought I put into it to make it a success. But the success of this project was not limited to my involvement. The student commitment to it was immense, the creativity and generosity of the choreographers was unmatched, and I believe we also had a good bit of luck.

In early November while shooting some work for a student-choreographed piece on location, we were near the park where we would film RABBIT HOLE. Some solo locations were still up in the air and, since I had some students with me, I wanted to take them to the park to look at the various possibilities and test out the dancing ground. I’d already done an initial scout with Ron, our cinematographer, so now I was just confirming some additional locations now that I’d seen all the solos and had some ideas of who might go where.

After visiting the locations together and getting some student input, we headed back to school together in the school van. As I was driving down the road right outside the park, I saw a flash of fur dart across the street. I slowed down and yelled at the kids ‘what is that… it’s a COYOTE!” No one was behind us, so we stopped and took some quick photos and videos as it stared back at us.

That’s when I knew. We were blessed. This project was blessed. I wish I could tell you that I’m joking, but I’m truly not. When special things happen, it means something. That Coyote, that trickster (remember, from part IV?), blessed our RABBIT HOLE.

And, boy did we need a blessing.

As I mentioned previously, I emailed choreographers weekly to keep them up to date on our process. Part of their work was also making production choices regarding their soloists’ locations, costuming, and camera choreography. Keeping track of this for 26 different solos was a lot, but it helped that some people were very specific with what they wanted (easy to hit a very clear target) while others were flexible (you know what you have and what the kid can do, just make it look good). By mid-November we had a shoot schedule planned (shooting 8-10 solos each day on a Friday, Saturday, and Sunday in early December), locations chosen, costumes pulled, and a very detailed plan.

And then Thanksgiving happened.

To Be Continued…

One of the best parts about this whole process was coming up with a list of choreographers and pairing them with their dancer. I worked to pair dancers with choreographers that would meet them where they were at but would also challenge them. I tried to pair dancers with choreographers that might inspire them and help them see possibilities in their own life. I tried to pair dancers with choreographers that had experiences that aligned with the goals I knew the students had. We revealed the dancer and choreographer pairs at our Company Retreat in September, and just days later we began the first part of the rehearsal process.

From that point on, RABBIT HOLE, became a daily part of my to do list. I coordinated the (mostly) remote rehearsal schedule of 26 dancers and 13 choreographers. I emailed choreographers weekly and with that week’s rehearsal schedule as well as a weekly Google form for them to fill out so that I could keep track of their progress and be made aware of any issues with dancers coming unprepared or technical issues. I attended all the rehearsals because they were hosted through my Zoom; that was the most amazing part of this process.

Through the use of breakout rooms I could host multiple guest choreographers rehearsals at once, as well as student choreographer’s rehearsals – because did I mention that RABBIT HOLE was a huge amount of work, but it was not the only creative work we were doing? It was only about 1/3 of the show that we would end up creating, even though it could have absolutely stood on its own. There was one day where we held 6 different guest choreographer’s rehearsals at once, with artists zooming in from both coasts, and all over Texas, and students dancing in their homes, at the same time that 2 students were working with their casts remotely on zoom in 2 other breakout rooms. Incredible. I could have never completed that amount of work simultaneously in the past.

Moving around from one rehearsal to the next and being able to observe these choreographers and the way they worked with the students taught me a lot about each dancer. I got to see which dancers were more comfortable with collaboration and experimentation. I got to see how choreographers communicated with dancers within the confines of Zoom while not being able to physically be with them. I got to see a variety of methods of dance composition and dancer/choreographer collaboration. The students experienced that as well within their rehearsal process, but for me, being able to peek into the rehearsals of all 26 dancers and 13 choreographers was like a master class in creative process.

But the work was not all for me in coordination nor for the choreographers in creation, but also for the dancers in their ownership of the work. I created assignments for students to track their own progress and stay accountable for their own rehearsals independently. Not only did students get more time working one on one with a choreographer, but they had to take responsibility for their rehearsal process, especially once they had completed their 2-3 choreographer Zoom rehearsals. We could rehearse together as a group weekly at the most, but with some assistance through independent rehearsal assignments they were held accountable to regular maintenance of their solo. As I told the students, these solos are just 1 minute, so they better be their best! And that was a challenge they eagerly took on. They rehearsed on their own, watched videos of themselves, spent time thinking about and journaling through their solo and the character they created in that 60 seconds.

Once we were back on campus, at least part of the company, dancers had the chance to show their solos to each other in rehearsal, and it was one of the best things we did. They had so much fun seeing each other’s individual work and cheering each other on. It was incredible to see how the work they did individually, separate from one another, brought them together.

To Be Continued…

There have been 4 parts to this story and not one of them has talked about the impact on the students nor their experience in this project, but it was always at the forefront of my mind. This project would mean nothing if it did not serve the students in many ways: allowing them to work directly with professionals, including them as a part in the creative process, giving them a performance opportunity, affording them an opportunity to rehearse and create in a practical way in spite of the pandemic, and giving them an opportunity to do something they’d never done before.

This was ultimately why I got so excited about RABBIT HOLE, all the possibilities that weren’t possible in the past. In a normal year we would hire 1 or 2 guest choreographers and, in most cases, students would have the opportunity to create and rehearse with them over a few days. In addition, many guest choreographers, with a group of this size, would never even learn every student’s name, much less learn much of anything about them as a dancer or artist. Typically, the choreographer would find a small group of dancers that they were attracted to and wanted to feature, and those students would benefit the most from the experience. I never would have said it that way before RABBIT HOLE, because I really do believe that even students that aren’t featured in a choreographic work benefit from the experience as a whole, BUT it’s the truth if we are talking about the relationships that students make with a guest artist and the direct influence students might have from working with them. The most talented, and in some cases the most privileged kids, get the most out of it. That’s the truth, I don’t make the rules.

In addition, most of these students would never get the chance to be featured as a soloist or at equal weight of presentation in a cast of 26. That privilege is typically reserved, once again, for the most talented and most privileged… of course what are we valuing the idea of “talent” on? But that is a conundrum for a different essay. Just getting a solo was already something that was not a typical experience, much less a solo created for them and for this project specifically, much less along with the opportunity to work directly with a professional, and much less alongside the opportunity to be featured equally alongside their fellow company members. In addition, many of the dancers were not only being coached directly by these professionals, but also treated as a partner in the creative work. Again, not a typical or expected experience, and I was so excited to be able to bring it to these students.

If we consider a typical student experience when working with a guest choreographer it’s a very confined experience for the dancer. The choreographer comes in knowing they have a short amount of time which often limits any opportunity for collaboration. Typically, the choreographer might spend 30-60 minutes watching the dancers and giving them movement, but then they just start teaching the work. All the dancers get to do is learn the movement and do their best to show the choreographer their best work within the dance that is being created. That’s it.

Not in RABBIT HOLE.

In addition to the RABBIT HOLE theme, the time limit, and the general rehearsal structure and method, the choreographers also had 1 additional limitation. I created a movement phrase that would be a motif throughout the series. Each choreographer was required to utilize the motif in some way within their choreography. They could cut it up, reverse, or manipulate it in a variety of ways but they had to include it. My hope was that if each one minute solo had a common movement piece, the entire series would feel less scattered and more defined. It also gave me the opportunity to include even more student collaboration.

At the suggestion of McKinley Willis, Dallas Black Dance Company Member and one of our guest choreographers, we hosted an online class for all the dancers where I taught a longer phrase that included the motif. Any choreographers that were able to join us could watch over Zoom, and we recorded the class for those that could not observe live. I asked each dancer to turn in a video of themselves doing the phrase with their own setup, in case the Zoom class didn’t show them well enough (because technology and internet latency). Each dancer was also asked to manipulate the motif in their own way and send me a video. I sent these videos of their original and manipulated phrase work to their assigned choreographer as well as a written assignment that each dancer completed letting their choreographer know a little bit about them and their dance history as well as a photo and some of their own responses to and opinions about the rabbit hole source material and theme. This was all before any dancer went to a rehearsal, and before they knew who their choreographer was (which was another fun thing for me to figure out, and a fun secret to keep from them for awhile!). My hope was that with all this initial prep work, the choreographers could truly get to know their dancers as well as how they move and let that help to structure and create the solo, if the choreographer chose.

While no choreographer was required to include dancer input in their creations, most did in some way, and even those that didn’t were able to pull from their dancer’s responses and videos to create something that would work within all the other limitations that were put in place.

And so before they even set foot into a rehearsal with their choreographer, in fact, even before they knew who they would work with, the dancers already had even more input and insight into the creative process than many of them had ever had before.

To Be Continued…

Before I started reaching out to choreographers I felt really strongly that I needed to establish this thread, and as I mentioned in the previous section, I was, at the suggestion of my friend, Christianne, on this train of researching mythology in different cultures, looking for common themes, story frame works (ie, creation stories, etc), and characters when I landed on tricksters.

I have a soft spot in my heart for tricksters. My husband, Jacob, reminded me on our very first date that his name means trickster (review the Bible story of Jacob and Esau… although I feel that Esau would say that Jacob was playing more than a “trick”), and spends a lot of time enjoying mischievous humor and engages with others in a playful way as his main way of communication and relationship. In addition, I’m an animal lover, and for whatever reason, mythology that exists in most cultures centers animals, especially certain animals, in their morals and fables having to do with tricksters, primarily the rabbit/hare, and the coyote if you look at American (geographical America, not the USA) mythology.

I sent Susan what I thought was an innocuous text.

“Still working on a theme. I’m thinking perhaps focusing on the idea of the trickster in various forms of mythology. Went down an interesting rabbit hole this afternoon.”

Her response: “Oh how fun! Also, rabbit hole is an interesting idea?”

I went to sleep and, as I usually do, woke up in the middle of the night, and grabbed my phone and Googled “rabbit hole.” I found an article about internet rabbit holes, an Alice in Wonderland inspired poem, and images of a museum exhibit that featured holes in walls and ceilings and ladders and various rabbits hopping about (I’ve shared these photos with many people, but I have found that I am one of the only people that truly wishes I could have gone to the exhibit). At a much more reasonable hour I texted her back with the screenshots I found and said “you were right, it’s rabbit hole.”

• 

• 

• 

The idea of a rabbit hole, like the image above, is a great one because there are many entrances. There’s its literary origins and the possibility of going full on fantasy with it (ie, Alice, the Mad Hatter, the Queen of Hearts, etc). There is the internet connection. There is an emotional and mental idea of going into a rabbit hole and finding a new way out, or, worse, getting trapped. There is the literal idea of a rabbit hole and the den where these animals live, separately but connected to each other. There are all the things you pick up along the way when you go down a rabbit hole. There are rabbits in so many different forms in culture, from the unsettling rabbits we see in Jordan Peele’s Us, he trickster hare, the Energizer bunny, and even Bugs Bunny himself. There are so many points of departure from the idea of Rabbit Hole, and somehow the imagery lends itself beautifully to a project like this one. The whole point of a rabbit hole is to get a little bit lost in one idea and wonder how you ended up in this new space and the ideas you pick up along the way… it’s very much a parallel to the project we were creating.

It also worked beautifully with the group of 13 choreographers I assembled. They came from a variety of race/ethnic backgrounds, sexual orientations, ages, genders, genres of dance, geographic locations, and various parts of the dance field including professional performers and choreographers, educators at the elementary, secondary and collegiate level, and artists that spanned a variety of dance and theater organizations. After gathering the choreographers for a Zoom meeting where I presented the plan (including the theme, compensation, time frame and what their responsibilities would and would not include), everyone was in and eager to contribute. These 13 choreographers ran the gamut of how they interpreted and engaged with the idea of the rabbit hole, from their music choices to their thematic interpretations.

Alongside this project of gathering the choreographers and establishing the frame we would work in, was the project of deciding how we would bring these solos to life. As I mentioned in a previous part, Ron Gonzalez, a local cinematographer, was contracting with our theater department to help them film for their online performances. I met with Ron as well and explained my idea. He seemed interested and we set up a time to visit Fort Worth’s Trinity Park to scout locations… to get 26 solos filmed in 2-3 days was going to be quite the feat, and we needed an area that provided varied backdrops and that was also not going to be a problem to film in (as a public park we needed no permits to be there). When we were scouting Ron pointed out tons of locations that would be interesting visually (under bridges, in front of graffiti, on a skyline-backed hilltop, on a fire escape stairwell) and that he would be able to capture with a variety of cameras, including his favorite, a drone, and he also pointed out, “there’s sort of a rabbit hole-looking spot that I think you might want to use.”

There’s a small, children’s train that has run through the park at times, and in a more forested area the track is surrounded by trees, and where the train exits the treed area, the vegetation was cut in such a way that it looks like a hole. It’s very surreal.

To be continued…

So I got in my head that we would do 26 solos. We would film them somehow, probably/hopefully outside, and link them together into one, 30-minute work. I’d solved a lot of problems by deciding on this, but now I had some new problems.

Who would choreograph these 26 solos? Because it sure was not going to be me.

How would we keep these 26 solos separate so they could stand on their own but also connected?

How/who would film it and where?

And a million other issues that had to do with just the school year in general…

By now (in this, Part 3 of my story), it’s about the middle of the summer and I’m still getting my head around 26 solos. I quickly realized that this is how I was going to continue to use guest choreographers (Keep in mind, I was trying to make sure we were rehearsing remotely, because I was convinced that even if we went back to school, I may not be allowed to bring in guests into the school building. And remote rehearsals are tricky, as mentioned in part 2). I thought I might hire a number of guests to choreograph 1 or 2 solos to keep the work manageable and to keep within my guest choreographer budget. I was still working it out in my head, but I was excited about it, which meant I was talking about it with a bunch of people.

I remember meeting with my friend, Laura. We sat in my house (in our masks!) and watched Hamilton, and during the intermission and after the show I told her my idea.

“So I’m thinking 26 solos. We limit them to 1 minute, so we don’t lose interest, we’re changing ideas every minute or so. Maybe they have a common theme. Maybe I ask 13 choreographers to each do 2 1-minute solos. I can do 2, I can ask my (2) dance staff members to each do 2, and then I just need ten more choreographers that will make 2, 1-minute solos for… $200? That’s my budget… is that too little? Is that an insult?”

And then Laura said the thing that made me keep going.

“Krista, it’s one minute of choreography. That’s nothing. That’s fine.”

And she was right. Especially then. So few people were working and we were all so frustrated and spinning our wheels that any project that seemed like it could actually get off the ground, sounded exciting.

Side Note: this is a low payment and I did get turned down by 2 of my first choice choreographers because of it, which I completely understood. But it was what I had to offer and for those that took it on, they were mostly just excited to be doing something after some very frustrating months of being inside and without the normal number of commitments and opportunities. I don’t think this schematic would work again at this pay scale with the caliber of artists that we were privileged to work with, unless there was some sort of trade or if it was presented as an opportunity to donate their time and talents.

And so Laura and I spent more time talking about how I was going to keep it manageable so that no one got duped/guilted into doing more than the work they were being (minimally) compensated for:

1. Establish a theme so choreographers are not starting from scratch
   
2. Have each student provide input/personal artistic information/creative research to their choreographer so choreographers have something to work off of, if that is helpful to their process
   
3. Emphasize the importance of limiting the scope of the work: Creating just 1 minute in no more than 2, maybe 3, rehearsals over Zoom (no need to commute or travel) that fit in their schedule

At this point, I’m obsessed and I’m thinking about the solo series (I had not yet arrived at the RABBIT HOLE idea) constantly. The next 2 most important things were to establish a thread that would connect the solos and to assemble a list of diverse choreographers that I would reach out to see if they were interested in contributing.

One of the choreographers that I knew I would use was my mentor, Susan Douglas Roberts. Pre-pandemic, Susan and I had already agreed that she would be one of my guest choreographers, we had just assumed that it would be a more traditional process to create a more traditional work. I had a conversation over the summer with Susan about my idea for the process, and she was very interested and eager to contribute to a project that was tailored to what we were going through, not only in spirit but in the practical format of bite-sized amounts of choreography and working with just one student at a time remotely. This was a practical plan for the artistic work but also for the safety of all involved, and it also set up an achievable goal, rather than an attempt at something that would be a second-best version of something we’ve always done.

Another personal aside: Dance educators were basically thrown into remote teaching, and while it’s very possible to do it, you can’t just take what you do in the studio and do it the same way but throw a computer in front of you; and very few people seemed to understand that. Most of us taught ourselves how to do it through some trial and lots of error. Similarly, administrators in many different educational institutions were eager to say “ok, just do online/virtual performances” but when pressed to establish the methods we would use to accomplish this, it became clear they  didn’t understand how performance production functions in a traditional setting much less how it would work in an online/virtual setting and there was even less of an understanding of how you would adjust to this new framework and all that it would take. We were on our own, and RABBIT HOLE was my attempt to conquer these issues myself.

“Krista,” Susan said at the conclusion of our initial conversation, “This is exciting. There has been so much that we’ve lost and had to cancel, but this seems possible. Working on a project like this seems really hopeful.”

That was when I thought that perhaps this was not only going to work, but maybe people would even be as excited as I was to take part?

I reached out to a former co-worker, Christianne, to see if she had any thoughts on a theme.

“There are 26 dancers, so I would love something that could somehow be related to the number 26, but all I can think of is the letters of the alphabet, and that feels a bit Sesame Street?” I asked.

“I don’t know about letters, but what you’re describing immediately takes me to Greek mythology. There are so many gods and goddesses and folk tales and stories. Maybe you could find a common idea to focus in on, and pick deities that have stories related to it?”

I really liked this idea, and it felt very Western-centric to me, and I told Christianne that.
“True,” she said, “Maybe you should consider mining mythology in general: folk tales from lots of different cultures as a thread?”

We were getting closer to the RABBIT HOLE.

To be continued…

I started thinking, “what can we do that we’ve never done before?”

That’s a big question, so let me back up to the simpler parts of my very big problem.

Problem 1: No live, in person performances, all performances would be online (which is a really simple declaration to make with only a million possibilities as to how to actually do it… but this is what was said)

Solution: Dance films. Luckily I had thismuch experience with making screendances and dances for the camera. Luckily when I told my husband that I would need to upgrade my smartphone (you need to film at a high quality? iPhone 11 and up has got you covered. For real.) and my laptop (needed way more storage, RAM, a higher processing speed, and a better video editor – went with a macbook Final Cut Pro X because that’s what I knew, but it certainly isn’t the only option) he just said “makes sense.”

Also luckily, the chair of our theater department knew a cinematographer that was looking for more work, because pandemic, and had a theater background. We ended up contracting Ron Gonzalez for both dance and theater online performances. While I didn’t use Ron for every part of our dance performances, having him work on the more complex projects (like RABBIT HOLE) brought up the level of our shows immensely!

Problem 2: What if we stay online all year? What if the kids can never come up to the school? How will we rehearse and perform?

Solution: Zoom and performances filmed off campus, preferably outside.

Now, I admittedly made this problem even more restrictive. So much was up in the air in terms of what might be possible, that I thought, “ok fine, what if I can NEVER see them in person, then what?” While that’s not what happened, I’m glad I planned for it, because it meant that, no matter what happened I had a good, and also a SAFE, plan that would actually work, especially for those students that were not comfortable with coming back to school or meeting in large groups to rehearse or perform.

While we were not restricted to this solution for ALL of our dances that were put into online performances, this is the solution we used for RABBIT HOLE.

Problem 3: We normally use 1-2 guest choreographers… how could we ask a guest choreographer to choreograph remotely on 26 dancers or make a dance film? How could we expect them to be able to create good, substantial (8 minutes or longer) work under these circumstances?

Solution: Split the budget between 10 guest choreographers and ask them to make 2 minutes worth of material instead.

Yes, really. (more on this in part 3 of this story)

Problem 4: There are 26 dancers in the company. How can we put that many into a piece when, at the moment, we’re not supposed to have more than 10 people gathered? How can that many dancers rehearse over zoom?

Solution: 26 solos.

Yes. 26 solos. Yes, it’s a lot.

And before I wax poetically about my hatred for dance solos, let me talk a little bit about rehearsing group dances over zoom. I hate it, personally, but I will say I’ve seen many do it and do it well, including my student choreographers. While we quickly moved away from only using zoom to rehearse (by October we had at least some students on campus, and that number increased and fluctuated throughout the year), we used Zoom as a part of our rehearsal process all year long for students that were at home learners, and it came in handy when school was closed suddenly due to inclement weather or a power outage. I’m glad it’s in our toolbox, and I’m excited to bury it a little deeper in there this next year.

But rehearsing over Zoom for dance is soooo hard (and don’t @ me musicians, I know it’s hard for you too!) You need a very specific sound set up, and it’s different depending on whether you have students only on zoom or some on campus, some remote. Students have to take control of the space they’re in (and many don’t have much choice in that area) and even in the best situations (for example a student in an at-home studio with a large screen which allows them to keep track of what’s happening in class easier) you have to do so much translating of direction and pathway, and explanation of steps and details that the process is much slower. I’m proud to say that we did it and improved at it throughout the entire year, but, again, I’m happy to leave that behind except in cases where we really need it. That being said, Zoom allowed us to rehearse with choreographers and dance-artists who were teaching from their New York apartments, or their studio in Seattle as well as those based here in Texas. The flexibility of the format was quite freeing.

But let’s get back to those solos.

I hate dance solos. Like, really, truly hate them. They are my least favorite thing to watch. They are difficult to rehearse (there is a very delicate balance between supporting your soloist, giving them notes, and letting them figure it out. I almost always get it wrong). They are difficult to perform well. And they are the hardest thing to create. Give me 8 or more dancers and I can whip up a 3-5 minute dance in less than 3 hours. Having more people means more possibilities, more formations, more material (well, repeated material is not as obvious, which saves time in creating), more visual design and movement onstage. A few years back I choreographed a solo for myself, and it was definitely the most difficult thing I’ve ever created. It’s the most isolating experience.

That solo is one of the pieces I was most proud of, because it was so difficult to create and to perform… But that was before 2020. Once I created the dances I had to in the pandemic, almost everything before that pales in comparison.

And RABBIT HOLE, though it is not fully my choreography, is at the top of my list of dances I’m proud of.

Maybe I can make it at the top of my list of items I’ve produced rather than at the top of my list of choreographic works.

Yep, that’s it, I feel better now.

Sorry, I write both for myself and whoever is reading this. Please forgive me for random asides.

 Anyway, so if I hate solos so much… why did we do it?

Remember when I said I was researching what other people were doing? There was a document published by a well-known dance organization that gave some suggestions as to precautions to take and ways to move forward. I’m sure this isn’t true, but as I read it, it seemed like every other section ended with “consider focusing on solo work for students this year.”

It felt like I read that phrase fifty times, and I just wanted to throw my computer across the room, yelling “I HATE SOLOS!”

I did not do that. Or if I did, I blocked it out, which is also entirely plausible.

But eventually I did start to think about why solos would be a smart thing to do.

With just one dancer, no matter the location or set up for rehearsals and performances, you could limit the people involved or in the space much easier than with a group, keeping everyone safer even if/when the community has a high level of virus spread.

With just one dancer, you have little to no danger of contact.

With just one dancer, they can safely perform without a mask.

And with just one dancer, rehearsing with a guest choreographer over zoom is a possibility. A much easier, much simpler, and much more productive possibility.

I thought to myself… “so… solos. 26 solos. That’s 30 minutes long. That’s an evening length work. I’ve never made an evening-length work.”

What can we do that we’ve never done before?

To be continued…

This is the story of creating when it seemed like there was nothing but roadblocks, of attempting to make something substantial when it seemed like the bare minimum was too much, of trusting my gut and using every skill at my disposal, even some that I thought had become dormant.

This is the story of RABBIT HOLE

I probably don’t need to tell you about what happened in March of 2020, but in case you are reading this from another dimension, the COVID-19 virus spread rapidly in the US and pretty much every school shut down. We were told we’d be back in 2 weeks, and since just a decade before we had taken a week off to deal with Swine Flu and that “worked,” 2 weeks seemed plausible. Now it seems like the most idiotic thing we ever thought. We never went back to school that semester and everyone spent the summer trying to figure out what we were going to do.

As a dance teacher at a fine arts charter school, I spent the summer trying to figure out how we would move forward in the studio. What is safe? What is dangerous? What is permitted? As a director entering just her second year of leading 2 student companies FILLED with talented student dance-artists, I spent the summer being bitter. (Yes, my first year as director was cut short by a pandemic (?), and yes, I’m still bitter about it. I have many strengths and holding grudges against global happenings outside of my control is one of them.) As faculty chair of our department leading 3 teachers that were in their first or second year as FWAFA teachers, I spent the summer researching what others were doing.

At first reading suggestions from others was frustrating. I mean, we were all just spit-balling here. In consulting other dance teachers I inevitably bumped up against people that were willing to take risks I was not, and also those that were taking precautions that I felt were unnecessarily restrictive. (which… is really not all that different from any time I ask other dance teachers’ advice- none of us teach the exact same way, nor do I expect that we all have the same list of “nevers” or “always” – this just felt so… life or death, health or ill, and what if your choice, or non-choice, led a student or their family to get sick?)  In consulting teachers outside of my discipline (both academic and dance) I ran into the same problem except that I learned about my colleagues own struggles in their teaching areas (the dangers of singing for our music and theater departments, struggles with small group projects and student culture for nearly every teacher, etc.), which made me feel guilty about all that we COULD do in dance (have you ever led an entire dance class without even talking? I have, and it is possible!). I felt like no matter what I did, it would be too much or too little, and honestly nothing felt consistent nor all that helpful.

And even trying to consider all the different precautions we would need to take felt pointless because we still didn’t know what school would look like. At one point, I was convinced that we would be online all year and that I would never see any of my students in person. While I was getting my head wrapped around this idea for class, I couldn’t imagine anything when it came to performances; I’d already used up all my ideas for at home dance performances* at the end of spring semester of 2020 (I love a good quarantine kitchen dance… and I’ve seen too many now…).

*I should mention that I have now seen a number of performances created primarily at performers’ homes that were incredible! Jennifer Mabus produced one for her program at University of St. Thomas Houston with choreographer Mike Esperanza that was astonishing https://youtu.be/1pO_Mv3GC2E. I saw a fantastic piece performed live on zoom with dancers in different homes that was produced by Chapman University. And, while it’s not dance, I think we’ve all seen the possibilities of performance demonstrated in Bo Burnham’s Inside. My point in bringing these up is to point out that just because I didn’t want to and wasn’t forced to create solely at home performances (nor did I have the skills or equipment to execute them), doesn’t mean that these types of performances were impossible. Many people did them, and did them well!

Some people reading may wonder why we wouldn’t just cancel performances. We did some of that and considered it for all of our shows. But with students that had been at our school since elementary and had devoted themselves to their art, we HAD to do something, AND it needed to be good. These dancers had worked hard to be in our performing companies, and some of them were already losing so much of what they expected their senior year at FWAFA to be, we had to give them an opportunity.

So I spent a lot of time in the summer thinking a lot of different things: I kept thinking what if this was just the way life was? What if we had always lived in a pandemic, what would dance look like? What would performances look like? I thought about how much I’d lectured students about how some of the best creativity came out of the most restrictions. I thought about how this would be my chance to prove whether or not I really believed that.

And, I spent a lot of time thinking about all that we couldn’t do. That was hard, and will never stop being hard, but at one point I just stopped. Anything I wasn’t sure about, I just took it off my list of possibilities. If we couldn’t do it to our best, we weren’t going to do second best. We weren’t going to attempt a subpar version of the programming that we always did. So if everything we’ve always done is not possible… what do you do?

You do something you’ve never done before.

To be continued…

I wrote this… essay? stream of consciousness? flurry of words? Whatever it is, I wrote it on May 26, 2021, FWAFA’s graduation day for the class of 2021. But I’m only just now posting it. Because. <shrugs>

5/26/21

3 years ago, in the early of summer of 2018, my friend Kede Van Dyck texted me to ask if I would join her as a senior sponsor. That school year had been tough and exhausting. Kede would be stepping up as sponsor because that was a year that so many of our teachers moved on from FWAFA, she wanted to make sure the class of 2019 had a great senior year in spite of some shifts and changes at the school they grew up at, and, truthfully, she really didn’t have an option. There was no one else to do this work and so, like always, if work needs to be done, Kede will do it. I felt (feel) the same way and told her that I would do it as long as I never had to process or make financial decisions having to do with the class fundraising and spending. She agreed, and then we asked Jackson Hill to join us because we knew our male-identifying seniors needed a role model, and Jackson was the perfect one to help us make decisions since he had been a FWAFA senior several years before (it is incredibly annoying how young he is and yet how wise. I am ready for my best friend Jackson to be in his 30s so he can stop making me feel old).

This post is going to go on for a while because I’m a writer, but it all boils down to this: we really didn’t know what we were getting into. We knew it would be hard for several reasons: 1) in the past the sponsors had been teachers of senior classes, and while I taught a few of the seniors, none of us taught all of them. 2) The class of 2019, our first class to sponsor, had been through a lot that I won’t get into here, but their senior year was truly filled with questions as they watched many staff members that they had grown up with move on and had their teaching roster shuffled into the middle of the year 3) the three of us already had a full load of teaching/counseling, directing, and admin work – this was just extra. A lot of fun, but unpaid extras.

The good news was, we had a lot of support. An amazing set of class officers that included Sydney Dotson, Luke Dean, Elyse Cipriano, and Tiffany Texada. Tiffany’s mom, Natalie, was our CAO at the time and devoted to making sure they had the best senior year possible. We had a cheerleader in our principal that came in that year, Rhonda Renner. All of these people really set up a foundation so that Kede, Jackson, and I could help the seniors achieve the things they wanted: an awesome senior trip, a “normal” but memorable senior year filled with ALL of the FWAFA traditions (and there are a LOT!), and a stellar senior showcase.

Showcase was a big reason that Jackson and I took on the senior sponsor work. This is the final performance for the seniors at our school, and it takes a lot to put on a good show. As directors and fine arts teachers, we have the skills needed to do it. Plus it’s fun. Truthfully, the kids know how to put on a show and, led by their Class VP as the director, they create the show entirely on their own, we really just remind them of things and help them wrangle their peers and try to squash any end of year drama that may come up. Mr. Hill is better at that last one than I am, but I also do a pretty good job of getting the students, dancers and non-dancers alike, performance ready. We all have our strengths.

I was so excited to finish strong with the Class of 2019 and move on to 2020. “This will be a normal year, and we can really do this right since we’ve done it before.”

Oh boy.

Spoiler alert: pandemic cut our year short, but even before that we had a complete changeover in our administrative staff. The Class of 2020 didn’t have a principal to start the year, but we were blessed in October with the amazing Dr. Jennifer Jackson who jumped in and did a LOT of listening and supporting. Right about the time we were about to really shift into end-of-year senior activities mode, we went on Spring Break and never came back. While we rescued some senior activities in late July… most of the things that class looked forward to were lost.

We did our best for the Class of 2020, and if any of you are reading this… we really did try. I am so sorry for what you lost. I wish there was something we could have done, or that I could do now.

Truthfully, as heartbroken as I was over the never-ending end of the 2020 school year, in March of 2020 I saw the writing on the wall and knew that the pandemic was going to affect the class of 2021’s senior year much more. A lot of people around me were convinced we’d be back to normal by the Fall. I knew that couldn’t be true, and it was difficult to hold that information in my head while others were being optimistic. The summer of 2020 was marked for me by uncertainty and frustration. I just wanted answers for what we would do. Texas lawmakers made that difficult as they went back and forth on rules about school “reopenings,” (we. Never. Closed. I will die on that hill…) online learning, and the role of our health departments. Add that to the rising numbers of cases and deaths, the justified civil unrest throughout the summer, and the constant volatility of US politics in an election year, and I was done before I started.

I started having what I would classify as panic attacks in April of 2020. I would wake up in the middle of the night in tears over all these kids (both ’20 and ’21) had gone through in their lives and how scared I was that life would never return to normal. I had fits of rage in July as I tried to manage my workload with my mental health (I don’t think I have ever worked harder during a “break” than the summer of 2020). And I remember having a pretty bad episode on the phone with my mom just days before the school year began. Oh, and I was also trying to keep our new dance faculty member, Jasmine Jaramillo in the loop as she began her first year teaching at FWAFA. Being in your first FWAFA year is really hard, and I could not prepare her for this year. I literally just shrugged my shoulders at one point and said “I mean… we’ll do something right?” Isabella Rodriguez was moving from part-time to full time and I also had nothing to tell her, no way to lead or help either of them through this. I’m just glad they both stuck around and did all they could this year. I would not have made it through without them, and I wouldn’t have blamed them if they had peaced out at any point.

Anyway, somehow the school year started, and I remember everything and also nothing at all. As class sponsors we get a front row seat to the phases of a senior year: back to school excitement, the winter doldrums, senioritis, post spring break “I just want to get out of here, what’s the point?,” “my senior year has sucked and I hate everyone,” and finally, my favorite part “omg it can’t be over, why didn’t I savor it more.” Sentimental Seniors are my favorite seniors. I love being a person they can come hug when they feel overwhelmed, I love seeing them cry at the weight of their friendships and the work they’ve accomplished, and I, selfishly, love getting the notes and cards and random texts and taking the photos and having moments with them where they realize how much the adults in their life love them and become overwhelmed at the next step they will take. I love telling them that they are ready.

I feel especially close to this group, the dancers in particular, for a million reasons: Many of them were in the first class I taught at FWAFA, and those that weren’t I taught for all or most of their years there. We went through the pandemic together, which is an awful thing but a shared experience that has shaped the way I view life, teaching, dance, art, and community. Because of all of this, I have cried all year long. There are so many times this year that I cried in front of students, but most of the time they had no idea, because they only ever saw me in my literal mask, and it’s really good at hiding my tears and sobs. Somehow for the last 2 weeks I ran out of tears. I got teary, but one deep breath and it dissipates. And while this part of the year has been marked by their tears, and not mine, I have been grateful that I’ve been able to soak up every moment with them. They have blessed me with so many kind words and actions of gratitude. They have protected me. I have done my best to just keep my eyes open and listen and watch and pay attention and enjoy.

There were many times that I got frustrated this year. It was a constant battle between making adjustments to existing traditions and just leaving them behind because they weren’t possible. It’s difficult to work really hard to give students new opportunities in the face of adversity, and also hear them complain about all they’ve lost. It’s hard not to take things personally when you’ve personally invested so much. But somewhere in the last 2 weeks things got better and I realized why I took on this role 3 years ago… a big reason was for this class. They have my heart. Somewhere along they way, they found their way into my soul, dug a little hole, and they have a nest in there. They are about to leave their nest, but I will keep it for them so that they can return at any moment. But the biggest reason is just because I love students at this age and watching them come into their own and love on each other as they finish one chapter and move onto the next.  I have the best seat in the house and the best friends sitting next to me to view it with.

Kede, Jackson, and I do a LOT of work and send a lot of snarky gifs via text to get through the sponsoring. This year was hard, but we did it, and really the kids did it. Yes, it was tumultuous, but we also could not have done it without THIS GROUP. They have stepped up in the face of uncertainty. They have showed us the way. They have been the light in a dark year. And while I didn’t know what we were getting into in 2018, I believe that we were called into these roles for many reasons including this season. I’m glad I have them – these seniors, these sponsor friends. They have made this year more than worth it, and I am so grateful.

This year was super busy and I was busy living it and not blogging, sorry not sorry. And quite frankly, I don’t want to spend too much time on this post because I have some books I need to read sooo…. HIGHLIGHTS:

This year at FWAFA I:

choreographed a new contemporary work, Noctiluca
restaged my ballet, Rhapsody, from 2004. It’s now extended and we had live accompaniment!
choreographed the middle school musical, Elf, Jr.
choreographed Company II’s sections of Sleeping Beauty
became the chapter sponsor of FWAFA’s chapter of National Honor Society of Dance Arts
became the chair of the Department of Dance
taught 100 students
attended a week-long workshop on the fundamentals of Restorative Practices

This year through kjlangford dances I:

completed a duet for 2 of my friends who are amazing dancers, teachers, and people
submitted the duet, re-pair, to… 4? 5? festivals. Rejected at all but ONE! But I’m thrilled to announce that it’s being performed at Dallas Dances (formerly Dallas Dance Fest) in September! I hope to submit and have it performed at one more festival before I put it in the archive for later.

This year, I have taught for FurtherDance Fort Worth twice and I was honored to teach ballet for the Arlington Heights High School Summer Dance Intensive this year. In addition, I so enjoyed taking the Anatomy of Technique workshop for dance teachers led by Deborah Vogel and Sarah Newton at TCU.

Still to come for the Summer:

Dancing in Muscle Memory Dance Theatre’s Made in a Day performance later this month
Attending Limon Dance Company’s Teacher Training Workshop at Kent State University
teaching ballet, jazz, and contemporary at Texas Dance Conservatory’s End of Summer/Fall Prep dance intensive
Reading a lot more books (hopefully)

I’m also excited about my choreographer exchange with AHHS Repertory Dance Company’s Director, Rachel Wade. She will be choreographing a work for Company II and I will be choreographing for RDC!

Here we go, hope to see you again in less than a year 🙂