Music

With the start of the school year (even though I’m no longer in school or teach at one), I usually find myself reminiscing on the few teachers that have made a lasting impact on my life. 

So, I wanted to share someone with you who I’ve been thinking about a lot lately. 

Now, for a bit of context, I stretch every day. 

Even if it’s just for a minute. 

Even if it’s one solitary position. 

I don’t share this to brag, it’s just a simple fact. My body not only requires it, it demands it.  

When I reach the butterfly stretch, which is nearly always because I love it, ya know, this one?

In my mind, I hear, “Put your thumbs in the thumb hole.”

So I smile and place my thumbs in the space created by the arches of my feet. 

It’s a particular voice I hear. The voice of my first dance teacher, Grace Butler. 

Creative Modern Dance

Grace ran a modern dance program for kids out of the WYCA in Palo Alto, Ca, where I grew up. My mom, a tap dance teacher at the time, also taught with Grace for a while. 

There’s pictures of me somewhere, lounging in one of those baby car seat carriers, watching with wide eyes a bunch of kids move around like crabs and gummy bears. 

Now, did I have any clue at the age of 5 or 10 that I would become a movement coach? My focus being on character movement work for actors?

Nope, not a clue. 

To me, Grace was my teacher at Saturday dance class, where I got to run around to music and imagine what it was like being a jellyfish.

She was also a dear friend of my family. The one who taught me how to play the recorder and would stop by unannounced for tea and treats simply because she was in the neighborhood. 

Real Quick…

So, what do I mean by modern dance?

Definition via Oxford dictionary, “Modern dance: a free, expressive style of dancing started in the early 20th century as a reaction to classical ballet. In recent years it has included elements not usually associated with dance, such as speech and film.”

So yeah, I think gummy bears fit right in there nicely.

From gummy bear to lobster

Each year, Grace would put on a show with her students. Without fail, there was one during the winter holidays entitled, The Night Before Christmas. 

So creatures such as bells, gingerbread people, stockings, rocking horses, garland, (you name it, we personified everything!) elves and Santa with his reindeer (I was Prancer my year) had their time on stage to strut their stuff.

The other was usually done every other year during the summer called Travels Under the Sea. Which, as you may have guessed, was compiled of dance and movement numbers of creatures associated with the ocean. 

Seagulls, kelp, swordfish, jellyfish, clams and lobsters, pelicans, and even an octopus.

As this was modern dance, right, the focus was on more organic movements vs. more classical styles, such as ballet, tap and jazz, which was not something Grace delved into much. On or off the stage.

I dunno, ballet, tap and jazz, from my experience, has more competition to it that modern dance doesn’t have. The focus in modern dance is more on individual expression vs. positions and form.

And as 6yr olds, we weren’t there to compete with each other. 

The focus was on characters, such as a swordfish or whatever character we wanted to be during class time. 

Little did I know that this is where my love of character movement work originated from. 

A love that was rediscovered many years later when I was in college. 

Not just a teacher

Now, mentor and teacher mean different things, right?

 Sure, a teacher can be a mentor, and a mentor can be a teacher. 

But, a mentor, by definition, is a trusted advisor, someone who advises and/or trains.

So, something I didn’t really understand until I was much older, even just a handful of years ago, was the core of what Grace taught. 

And the most wonderful thing to realize was that it wasn’t something she ever really spoke of. That I remember. She taught us by doing it. 

Dance, explore, create, play, and be wholeheartedly unique.

She’d created a safe space for kids to run around, to express themselves through movement, and learn to move together as a collective (that wasn’t sports) as a tribe of gingerbread people or jellyfish. 

We didn’t care about how silly we might look. We had one mission being in Grace’s classes: play. 

There was no searching for recognition, no: am I doing this right?

But, seriously, am I doing a seagull justice here?!

See, before each class, she’d hang these gigantic curtains to cover the floor-to-ceiling mirrors that existed in the multi-purpose/ballroom she taught out of. Because Gods forbid 6yr olds needed to be concerned about their figures. 

Let alone how they should move as a jack-in-the-box. 

Yep, a jack-in-the-box. 

It was a community. We didn’t know it at the time, we were too young, but we were learning to work together, as a team, through movement and choreography. 

Through structure and experimentation. 

When the kelp were frightened, they huddled and shook together. The crabs and lobsters walked/crawled in time together.

All that and keeping time with the music. We were baby musical practitioners too!

Music for movement

Anyone who’s participated in a movement class with me knows I find ways to incorporate music. I can’t help myself. Specifically, using an exercise I learned from another mentor in my life, Tom Gough, who I’m sure I’ll tell you about at a later date.

Grace used music as a vehicle for the creation of movement. Whether it was organic and improvised or for the shows we would put on that was choreographed. 

To this day, when I hear Funeral March of a Marionette by Charles Gound, probably better known as the theme song from Alfred Hitchcock Presents, I resist the urge to become that tiny purple gummy bear.

Oh, and she definitely left me with an odd affinity for xylophone music, ala Carl Orff.

A toast

Since working with Grace, I’ve moved on to play glorious other creatures such as goblins, monkeys, and an elderly iguana. 

And looking forward to many many more.

So, here’s to the mentors whose mentee didn’t realize their impact until decades later.

Before we understood what the word ‘mentor’ meant. 

As I was editing this post, I happened to get a call from Grace.

See, I had lost touch with her over the years, and I knew she’d be in her early 90s now. So, I decided to pick up the phone and see if her landline number would lead me to her.

I left a message, having no clue if I’d ever hear back.

We’ve got a tea date for next weekend.

And I can’t wait to tell her:

Yes, what you do makes a difference. 

I am the artist and human I am today because of it.