Behind The Curtain is a unique opportunity to get exclusive insight into the inner workings of Malashock Dance performances, programs, and events through first-person accounts from those that make them happen. From performers and choreographers to directors, producers, and beyond, our varied cast of contributors will provide an entertaining insiders look at what happens “behind the scenes” at Malashock Dance.
Check out a video of Bradley’s class HERE and then hear all about it directly from him below:
4 Sundays in February (2/19/12) Master Class Instructor Bradley talks dance:
When asked to describe my technique or my choreography I used to get irritated. My chosen communicative tool is dance, and it speaks for itself, so why would I talk about it? I’d spent nine months teasing movement out of my brain and into the bodies of my dancers in order to make a work of art. Why would I reduce all that effort and energy and heartache to a few tepid sentences? I have struggled to find the proper, eloquent words to communicate something I always felt could only honestly be spoken about through movement. However, the necessities of being an artistic director forced me to open my mouth, and this is what came out. I still am not sure if it is proper or eloquent but it’s honest and that’s all I can offer.
I love when people fall down. I love seeing someone drop something, or spill food or drink on themselves. I love when my pencil breaks as I’m writing, or I accidentally give myself a paper cut while trying to create stacks of paper in the name of cleaning. These little interruptions that force me to change direction, or slow down, or reformulate a plan make my inner child smile. Walking into a plate glass window is the surest way to make me your new best friend. There is no greater joy in life than watching someone trip over a crack in the sidewalk, stumble a few feet, throw their paperwork and coffee into the air, lose a shoe, and finally succumb to gravity. Do not mistake me for a sadist; I take no pleasure in other’s misfortune.
What fascinates me is the immediate moment after a trip, but before the fall; when the fear has registered in the brain but before the self-awareness has taken back over. That moment when the autonomic nervous system kicks in, pushes the ego aside, the façade finally drops, and the unvarnished you peeks through. Gone is the self-assured, well put together, able bodied walker, a real self has poked out from behind the mask–limbs flailing, spit flying–as the body tries desperately to right itself. The moment of completely unselfconscious letting go is the moment I crave. When emotional baggage, plans for tomorrow, the echo of last night’s triumph or failure, the inner monologue all cease and you are totally in the here and now trying to prevent disaster. These moments often occur only in moments of great surprise, often coupled with pain or embarrassment. But they are more organic to me than the manufactured realism of play acting or emoting.
As such, for the overwhelming majority of my dance career I felt like an outsider in my own body. I didn’t want pretty and perfect, I wanted chaos and freedom. No matter which style of dance I tried (ballet, tap, jazz, Irish dance, breakdance), none seemed to replicate these images that swirled in my head. The impossible moves and liquid, crazed athleticism I conjured in my mind’s eye seemed to be forever trapped inside my skull. It was not until college when I met Stephanie Gilliland my first mentor, that I found what my body had been looking for: the permission to be itself. I spent three years investigating my body, listening to it, retraining it, and falling down a lot. I became unconcerned with the mirror and perfection and instead with the ride my pelvis could take, how far I could expand my kinesphere, and how intimately I could dance with my constant duet partner, the floor.
I take no ownership of this technique, of course, as I see it as a unique Los Angeles hybrid to which multiple dancers and choreographers have contributed. My own contribution has been to strip the artifice out of my dancing and let the choreography itself be the communicative tool. Rather than narrative, I strive for a visceral emotional energy exchange with audience members and fellow performers. I have found that this only occurs when I push my students, my company members, and myself out of our comfort zone and into territory that scares them, then delights them. The technique I teach uses a few structural and muscular foundations as a base upon which I add layers of high-speed, off center propulsion.
Therefore the best master classes I have taught are those in which the dancer’s completely let go of their beauty and fear of making mistakes and just enjoy the ride. I try my best to make the class as fun and engaging as possible, but this is also hard work. Hard work requires sweat, a few tears, and the occasional bloody, floor-burned foot. Those students who are preoccupied with looking in the mirror, making sure they hit all the right angles, and play follower to another’s leader seem to struggle. A dancer who pushes so far that they fall flat on their face earns a gold star from me, and possible future employment.
