Tejedora Dance

.......The problem all came about because of the need to make business cards. There was my pretty picture and my
name in bold, fancy script. “Classes! Events! Workshops! Parties!” headed the top, and my contact information lined
the bottom.
.......And there in the center was a glaring blank spot where The Label of What I Am should go. I scratched my head,
stuck out my tongue, tried a phrase, hit the delete button, typed in something else, went back to the first option…
.......Middle Eastern Dancer. Well, I am American-born with French and Scottish and Irish blood, and my form isn’t
purely Middle Eastern. DELETE.
.......Belly Dancer. Too many stereotyped connotations that I don’t want to deal with when introducing myself to the
numerous misinformed strangers that I’m trying to entice in my rural community. DELETE.
.......Oriental Dancer. Classy, but leaves out any of the more textile-wearin’, mizmar-playin’, 20-yard-skirt flingin’, and
totally off the wall numbers that I do on a regular basis. And besides, how many people know Oriental simply means
“eastern,” in contrast to dances of, say… Vietnam or Japan? DELETE, DELETE, DELETE!
.......I began to get frustrated at this point.
.......I mean really frustrated.
.......What am I?
.......I rarely perform pure raks sharqi although it was my introductory style into the world of Middle Eastern Dance.
Many of my performances have a predominant Oriental flavor and I adore my bedlah costumes, but I also adore beledi
dresses, cholis and Ghawazee coats. Then again, there are those costumes that fit no classic format—the fuzzy, big-cat
printed pants-and-lace-up-back Kitty-Kat Kostume, and the shiny black latex pants that blew a seam and therefore
screamed to become a dance outfit. I am not a Tribal dancer, although I have my tribes and we have been known to
cue-dance on occasion, and we often perform in tassels and textiles (costumes which are also worn for many a
Tribe-less solo). Of course, we also have spangley costumes and velvet mermaid skirts for our more slinky numbers, as
well as 25-yard skirts and coin belts. I do not dance predominantly in the Egyptian style—even the Egyptian style of
American Belly Dance, nor Turkish, nor Lebanese, nor any other ethnic label. I am by no means a dance historian, even
though my college degrees were in History and Dance, and I absorb any cultural and historical tidbits with a voracious
appetite—tidbits which become embedded in the constantly growing, ever-mutating amoeba of my foundation.
.......I have studied ballet, jazz, square-dance, tap, flamenco, dance theatre, Ghawazee, Mexican folkloric, and
community ed. belly-dance-flavored-belly-dance. I wear Indian saris, flamenco shoes, Persian coats, Wal-mart skirts,
Afghani jewelry, evening gowns and Turkish vests—sometimes in combination with each other. I dance with canes,
swords, candles, zills, veils, fans, and great big wing-like veils attached to a coat. I have delved into various breed of
modern dance, ballroom dances, contemporary club dances, East Indian and Native American dances, line dances from
around the world, and my discovery of martial arts has woven its way into every aspect of my being including my
movements and the very way I breathe. I dance to Mohammed Abel Wahed, Natacha Atlas, George Abdo, Solace,
Hossam Ramsey, any live musicians I can get my hips on, and songs from any number of compilations like Jalilah’s
Raks Sharqi, BD Superstars, Music of the Ghawazee and Yalla Habibi. Then again, I have also belly danced to
Godsmack, Carmina Burana, movie or Broadway themes, Eminem, Mozart, Christmas songs, Type O Negative, and a
bunch of jazz classics. I have studied traditional and contemporary styles of Egyptian, Lebanese and Turkish dance; I
have played with dances from Africa, South and North America, Europe, and the Pacific Islands. But even with all of
this world-hopping, none of these dance styles can claim me as an avid practitioner.
.......So how could I possibly insert the proper label into that glaring empty space on my business card? I finally decided
on “Dancer.” Period.
.......During my dilemma a friend introduced me to Dalia Carella’s Dunyavi Gypsy Dance. “Here, maybe this is what
you’re looking for. It’s a fusion of various styles, but it’s not Tribal.” I loved it, but instead of solving my problem, it
only added more wonderful moves and costuming ideas to my already eccentric conglomeration. Besides, I couldn’t call
myself a Dunyavi Dancer because I don’t put things together the way Ms. Carella does and I use other styles.
.......However, the Dunyavi inspiration did one very important thing: it gave me permission to dance the way I dance
(*dip of head*), as did the Tribal styles. After so many experiences being told that I “don’t do it right,” I really needed
that permission. I needed a firm footing upon which to stand my ground and say, “Of course I do it right. It’s MINE, so
who could possibly do it better than me?” I had never claimed to be a “traditional Middle Eastern dancer” or an
“Egyptian style belly dancer,” so how could I possibly “not do it right?”
.......And what is “right” anyway?
.......In reality, the only dancing that we can possibly hope to duplicate as an absolute accurate historical account is
from the time of video onward. And in order truly do it “right” we had better limit that to the talkies, because how can
one interpret the full scope of a dance if one can’t hear the music? While we’re at it, if we wish to be meticulously
accurate, we better label any attempts to do it “right” with the date, the country of origin, the region within the
country, and the specific dancer we’re copying, because how do we know that the famous Fatima was not an innovator
in her own time? We don’t have a library shelf of videos dedicated to her contemporaries. How do we know that
Fatima’s dancing is indicative of the norm? What if all of her peers were snickering behind her back, saying, “Oh, that
Fatima doesn’t do it right!”?
.......And come on, even if I get that specific to save my own hide in the eyes of the ethnicity police, it is still my
interpretation of Fatima’s dance.
.......So I finally asked myself why I was expending so much energy on worrying about other people's opinions. I decided
to just dance the way I want to dance and to follow the example of some of my favorite innovators—I came up with
my own name for what I do.
.......Tejedora is the Spanish word for “weaver,” which is the essence of what I am. From my eclectic foundation, I
pluck movement styles, combinations, costuming, attitudes, carriages, and props at will, depending upon the music
playing and my mood of the moment. It is always these two things that determine which combination I will weave
together: music and mood.
.......Music is often chosen according to mood, so really it is my emotional state that determines what I do more than
anything. I prefer to think of my foundation more as a sea of inspiration, rather than a static block. This way, I bob
along and drift wherever the currents carry me, sometimes pulling up a nice shiny fish, sometimes dragging the bottom
for what someone else has thrown away, other times allowing myself to be engulfed in the tidal waves of soul-inspired
creation. Tejedora is all about putting in the work to create a skilled, technical base full of historical detail, and then
weaving it all together into something fresh, inspired by my current place in life.
.......I go through stages. One month, I’m really into Saiidi, then the next month Turkish and Spanish-fusion will really
light my hair on fire, and then for a week I’ll be all about drum solo and then I’ll be crazy for Indo-Tribal. So I’ll gather
all my music and videos and notes on the subject in question, dive down as far as I can, bring it back to the surface and
show it off—that is to say, show off my own personal interpretation of it, NOT showing off a duplicate of what I saw a
bunch of other people do. What would be the fun in that? They’ve already done it and it is theirs. This new dance, built
off of what I loved about theirs is mine, and therefore, it is completely authentic.
.......Authentic. People fling that word around, throwing it in each other’s face or holding it like a shield when they feel
threatened. I believe that if I am remaining true to myself, the way the music feels, and the movement, I am doing an
authentic dance. No, it might not be a dance from Beetletiebob, Turkey from the early 1900s in the style of Shmoozi
Abbabua—but if I’m not saying that it is, what’s the problem???
.......Dance is an ever-expanding, ever-changing essence, just as life is. When music goes global and weaves together
multiple influences, how can we dancers hope to resist the urge to respond in the kinetic realm? The music calls to me,
beckons me to become one with it. With such a broad background in dance, I refuse to limit myself in order to please
anyone. There are already dance historians and preservationists in the world and they are really good at what they
do—far better than I could ever hope to be, because it is not my passion. They are so necessary and so valuable, but
equally valuable is the opposite swing of the pendulum. The study of history for me is not the ultimate goal—it is a
means to my goal. It is one of numerous threads in my tapestry. Innovation, experimentation, pushing bounds, breaking
rules—this is what I live for and so I will tip my fez to the Stravinskys and the Isadora Duncans and the Picassos of the
world. They are my inspiration. The Weaver I am, and for those that need to put me into a neat file folder, they had
best create a brand new file and label it La Tejedora.

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