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PHILOSOPHICAL PROBLEMS OF
DANCE CRITICISM
CHAPTER II
THE DEFINITION OF
"DANCE"
by Julie Charlotte Van Camp
Copyright Julie Charlotte Van Camp 1981
All Rights Reserved
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/p. 19
Definitions of "dance" are of philosophical interest for
several reasons, even though definitions are notoriously elusive and may
be of limited value ultimately in understanding the phenomenon of dance
and in resolving other philosophical issues.
First, a preliminary examination of extensional definitions of
examples of dance and a review of the complex characteristics of dance
is useful in developing accurate and adequate explanations of the
artform as it is practiced, appreciated, and evaluated. At least some of
the misunderstandings of dance seem to have resulted from unwarranted
assumptions about characteristics of the artform. For example, human
movement is almost certainly a necessary condition of dance and its most
distinctive characteristic. However, movement is by no means sufficient,
and the ontological status and identity of dance performances cannot be
understood solely in terms of movement. In addition, understanding the
special role of the human body as an instrument of dance is necessary to
account for the dance world's interest in factors not perceivable in a
performance and the artform's unusual identity standards.
The numerous attempts by dance theorists to define and
/p. 20
describe the artform are thus important articulations of the nature
of the elusive artform. Seriously inadequate definitions evidence
theories likely to be inadequate with regard to other philosophical
claims, such as identity and ontological status. Definitions are
intimately tied to more comprehensive theories on dance, as demonstrated
in an analysis by Selma Jeanne Cohen of four theorists who,
"Because they have variant conceptions of the nature of dance and
of its function in society, . . . propose diverse means for achieving
their ends." (1) Cohen
also makes the important observation that "variety of conclusions
is a healthy sign," (2)
and that "final validity" is not a major concern at this time
in the history of the artform. (3)
A second reason for examination of the definition of
"dance" is that it promises to contribute some understanding
to the definition of "art" itself. Defining any artform is
difficult. Dance is no exception, with its multitude of genres, the
diverse components in any dance performance, and puzzling borderline
phenomena. Still, definition of an individual artform is a more
manageable and possibly more fruitful approach to understanding art than
the more commonly attempted definition of "work of art."
Further, a definition of "work of art" as a conjunction of the
definitions of individual artforms, as has been proposed by Monroe
Beardsley, (4) for example,
should include definitions of such artforms as dance and opera, along
with music, painting, and literature.
A third reason for defining "dance" is that it lays
/p. 21
important groundwork for specifying what critics are, or should be,
evaluating. Definition of an artform is not necessarily the same thing
as specifying the aesthetic object, understood in the sense of the
proper object of criticism. (5)
However, identifying the proper object of criticism involves
distinguishing those things which are critically relevant from those
which are not. Understanding the phenomenon of dance from a descriptive
perspective should assist in those normative inquiries, especially for
an artform about which so little is understood. For example, whether
music is a necessary condition of "dance" is of interest in
determining whether auditory images should be included in the proper
object of criticism.
A fourth reason why definitions of dance are of philosophical
interest is that in much extant writing on dance, "mere"
definition is really a statement of normative critical principles, and
possibly, as well, views on ontology and epistemology. Such theory-laden
definitions are not unique to dance, or even art generally, but they
shed important light on a young artform still grappling with the most
rudimentary questions of what it is and ought to be. Writers have
disagreed sharply on the definition of dance, underscoring the lively
interest in the issue.
Several approaches in defining "dance" are addressed here:
A. Specifying necessary and sufficient conditions;
B. Distinguishing dance from other human phenomena; and
/p. 22
C. Distinguishing dance from other performing arts.
A. Necessary and sufficient conditions
Many dance critics, writers, and philosophers over the last several
centuries have attempted to define "dance" using a variety of
conditions and characteristics:
(1) human movement, that is
(2) formalized (e.g., by being stylized or performed in
certain patterns), with
(3) such qualities as grace, elegance, and beauty,
(4) to the accompaniment of music or other rhythmic sounds,
(5) for the purpose of telling a story and/or
(6) for the purpose of communicating or expressing
human emotions, themes, or ideas, and
(7) with the aid of mime, costumes, scenery, and
lighting.
Most definitions begin with human movement, but differ sharply in
further characterization of that movement. Historically, much writing on
dance has been by persons intimately involved with the production of
dance, often as choreographers. Early examples of definitions of dance
are thus both descriptions of the artform at the time as well as
normative statements of what dance performances ought to be.
Until the late eighteenth century, definitions of "dance"
(or "ballet," in the sense of "the artform of
dance") seemed to use only the first four characteristics above.
Baldassarino da Belgiojoso, choreographer of Le Ballet Comique de la
Reine (1581), (6) wrote
that ballet is ". . . the geometrical groupings of people dancing
together, accom-
/p. 23
panied by the varied harmony of several instruments." (7)
Le Ballet Comique also had a story line, but this was apparently
of peripheral concern to the sixteenth-century audience. For some time
after Belgiojoso's pioneering work, ballets had at most a loose thematic
link between the various dances constituting a ballet. (8)
In the seventeenth century, dance consisted primarily of "Court
Ballets" (Ballets de Cour):
Created to celebrate special occasions, they included verse, vocal
music and danced entrees. . . The dancers were the noble guests, not
professionals. The dances included the various court dances of the
day. . . . (9)
"Court ballets" centered on elaborate floor patterns in
elegant but simple movements, a style which arose because the amateur
dancers were encumbered by the heavy clothing of the day and because the
audience was seated above the dancers, on galleries surrounding the
dance floor. (10)
Claude Menestrier's treatise in 1682, Des Ballets Ancient et
Modernes, provides an early example of critical reasoning that
currently accepted theories (in this case, regarding the ballet de
cour) were inadequate. He argued that the human body itself is the
only appropriate vehicle for the expression of certain inner emotions,
while such props as masks and costumes are inferior substitutes. (11)
In insisting upon human movement as the central expressive vehicle of
dance, Menestrier anticipated the rationale of twentieth-century
arguments regarding normative standards.
/p. 24
By the first half of the eighteenth century, court ballets were
superseded by "Classic Dance" (Danse d'Ecole), using
the five positions of the feet and the turn-out of the legs that are
still the foundation of classical ballet. (12)
Productions used professional dancers wearing less cumbersome clothing
and heelless soft slippers, (13)
but dance was still thought of primarily as formalized and elegant human
movement. In 1712, John Weaver, an English dancer, choreographer, and
teacher, wrote:
Dancing is an elegant, and regular movement, harmoniously composed of
beautiful Attitudes, and contrasted graceful Posture of the Body and
parts thereof. (14)
Consistent with Weaver's emphasis on dance as formalized and elegant
human movement, the famous French critic and choreographer Jean-George
Noverre wrote, in 1760:
Dancing, according to the accepted definition of the word, is the art
of composing steps with grace, precision and facility to the time and
bars given in the music, just as music itself is simply the art of
combining sounds and modulations so that they afford pleasure to the
ear. (15)
In the latter eighteenth century, the narrative/dramatic element
assumed increasing importance. Weaver had recognized the dramatic
potential of dance; he argued that this should be conveyed through the
movement itself, and accordingly de-emphasized the role of costuming, (16)
anticipating later reformers. But Noverre is credited with developing,
in 1770, "Action Ballet" (Ballet d'Action), ballet with
a ". . . plot at least as coherent as that of a play," (17)
thus
/p. 25
furthering recognition of the dramatic potential of dance. Anatole
Chujoy, in the twentieth century, said of Noverre:
Not technical mastery of steps (dancing for the sake of dancing) alone
was important, but a flow of action with gestures and facial
expression to fit the plot, . . . Instead of selecting music and
setting steps to it, Noverre looked for a story which would offer
opportunities for presenting dances, studied expressions, movements
and gestures that would best illustrate the theme, and then had music
especially written or adapted to fit each situation in the development
of his story. (18)
Significantly, Noverre's reforms are considered by some to have
altered the very definition of the artform. One contemporary critic
writes of this period: "No longer was mere technical execution of
steps enough justification for the title of 'ballet.'" (19)
This changing concept of dance reflected the growing importance of
the dramatic component of dance, consistent with an increasing tendency
in the eighteenth-century to distinguish between dancing per se
and theatrical dancing, or dance as an artform. Stepháne Mallarmé, in
the nineteenth century, said ballet is ". . . dancing adapted to
the theatre; it is pre-eminently the theatrical form of poetry." (20)
Similarly, the Encyclopedia of Denis Diderot and Jean Le Rond d'Alembert,
published about 1772, defines dancing as "Ordered movements of the
body, leaps and measured steps made to the accompaniment of musical
instruments or the voice," (21) while
ballet is defined as "action explained by a dance." (22)
In the first half of the nineteenth century, theatrical,
/p. 26
romantic ballet gained prominence in France and then Russia. (23)
Giselle, the epitome of romantic ballet, first produced in France in
1841, incorporated the elements of formalized and beautiful human
movement, music, mime, costumes, scenery, and plot. (24)
In the early twentieth century, Michel Fokine introduced plotless
ballets, in which a dramatic mood was expressed without any story line.
His reforms were widely accepted and his concept of ballet is regarded
today as the norm: ". . . a one-act depiction of character: an
atmosphere: a closed dramatic situation: a movement suite as rigid in
form as a music-suite." (25)
Fokine is an example of how writer-choreographers have actually altered
the definition of the artform, by developing critical principles
presented to the public (both in the form of choreographic examples and
in writing) as statements of the way dance ought to be. His
famous five principles, printed in The London Times in 1914,
include:
2. The dramatic action of the ballet should be continuously developed
by means of movement, rather than having sections of pantomime to
relate the story alternating with dance numbers that had no dramatic
or narrative significance.
3. The traditional gesture-language, or pantomime, which often was
unintelligible to the audience and even sometimes to the dancers,
should be abandoned; instead, in its place, the entire body of the
dancer should be used to communicate ideas and feelings. (26)
In his rejection of classic mime, Fokine utilizes an appeal made
frequently by dance critics in justifying a particular
/p. 27
critical reason: anything which detracts from (as opposed to
enhancing) human movement, the central expressive vehicle of dance,
detracts from the overall goodness of the work. In turn, this can be
justified by a principle of unity, in that elements which detract from
the human movement contribute to the disorganization of the performance.
Appealing to a principle of coherence, it could be argued that anything
which detracts from the human movement obscures the primary raison
d'etre of dance as an artform. Fokine's principles can also be seen
as a stipulation that pantomime is neither a necessary nor a sufficient
condition of "dance."
Despite Fokine's arguments, mime continued to play an important role
for some time. In contrast with Fokine, critic Mark Perugini wrote in
1915:
The chief elements of Ballet as seen to-day are - dancing, miming,
music and scenic effect. . . Each has its individual history and all
have been combined in varying proportions at various periods. But it
is only in the past hundred and fifty years or so that they have been
harmoniously blended in the increasing richness of their development
to give us this separate, protean and beautiful art - the Ballet of
the Theatre. (27)
Perugini apparently believed that dance is a vehicle or method for
presenting a theatrical, or dramatic, performance. In contrast, Fokine
viewed dance as primarily human movement which secondarily (although
still importantly) expresses a dramatic concept, though not a plot.
Perugini's view was widespread in the nineteenth century, while Fokine's
is predominant today. (28)
/p. 28
Fokine's innovation of the plotless one-act ballet did not actually
eliminate plot as an accepted component, but presented an additional
option. Story-ballets have continued in importance, both in the
continuing interest today in nineteenth-century classics and in the
occasional creation of new story-ballets. (29)
Later writers assumed that plots were neither necessary nor sufficient
conditions, but might sometimes enhance a production, a view still held
today. Perugini wrote in 1935, for example:
A ballet is a series of solo and concerted dances with mimetic
actions, accompanied by music and scenic accessories, all expressive
of a poetic idea or series of ideas, or a dramatic story provided by
an author, or choreographer. (30)
In the decades following, the importance of plot and mime, even in
the story-ballets, has declined. In 1938, critic Arnold Haskell made no
mention of mime in defining "ballet" and clearly saw plots as
optional, although he still considered costuming, scenery, and music
necessary to ballet:
Ballet is a form of theatrical entertainment that tells a story,
develops a theme, or suggests an atmosphere through the orchestration
of a group of costumed dancers trained according to strict rules and
guided in tempo and spirit by the music, against a decorative
background; music, movement, and decoration being a parallel in
thought. (31)
Typical of contemporary definitions of dance is one by dance
historian Richard Kraus:
Dance is an art performed by individuals or groups of human beings, in
which the human body is the instrument and movement is the medium. The
movement is stylized, and the entire dance work is characterized by
form
/p. 29
and structure. Dance is commonly performed to musical or other
rhythmic accompaniment, and has as a primary purpose the expression of
inner feelings and emotions. . . . (32)
Kraus identifies several elements as necessary: (1) human movement,
that is (2) formalized, (6) for the purpose of expression human
emotions. Music (4) is typical, although not necessary. He does not
mention (3) such qualities as grace, elegance, and beauty, (5) the
purpose of telling a story, or (7) the aid of mime, costumes, scenery,
and lighting. This definition is problematic, as other human phenomena
also consist of the three necessary elements, and some currently
avant-garde dances do not include all of them; for example, some consist
of intentionally random, everyday movements, while others carefully
avoid the expression of human emotions.
In summary, important historical figures have agreed that human
movement is at least a necessary condition of dance, but there is
disagreement about the other factors that constitute necessary or
sufficient conditions, or just important characteristics. They have also
differed over normative standards implicit in such definitions, and the
role of definitions, whether descriptive or normative. Some writers, for
example, in asserting that earlier definitions are incorrect, seem to
argue that certain phenomena would not count as dance performances at
all. Other proposed definitions suggest that a dance performance with
certain characteristics is simply not a good performance.
/p. 30
Oversimplifying somewhat, views among historical dance writers on the
primary characteristics of dance have shifted from (1) formalized human
movement, with a very peripheral dramatic element, to (2) dramatic
spectacle using mime and human movement as the vehicles for telling a
story, to (3) a re-emphasis on human movement, but with an integral role
for dramatic expression, whether or not a narrative is involved.
As in other artforms, avant-garde experiments in dance often seem
purposely designed to play havoc with traditional definitions and
concepts. (33) Regardless of
the intent of the creators, these experiments present an enormous
challenge to both critics and philosophers in understanding dance,
although it is not necessarily the case that adequate definitions must
accommodate any and all such experiments.
The one necessary condition of dance, human movement, is challenged
by dances (admittedly rare) with no movement, (34)
or an absolute minimum of movement highlighted by stillness. (35)
These dances still have a central role for human movement, in that they
use a human body capable of movement in intentional non-movement.
More common among avant-garde choreographers is that use of
non-formalized movements, in the sense of both "everyday"
movements and random movements. Many depart from established dance
vocabularies to explore the simplest of ordinary movements, such as
walking, skipping, and running. (36)
Although traditional ballets sometimes incorporate a few
"everyday"
/p. 31
movements into the formalized, ballet vocabulary, they are usually
still stylized or exaggerated. (37)
Avant-garde experiments use such everyday movements exclusively and
without stylization. One choreographer, Anna Sokolow, says she sometimes
wonders about ". . . the dividing point between movement and dance.
I don't know and I don't really care." (38)
Aestheticians and many dance critics, of course, do care about such
things. (39) Most would
hesitate to call a person walking across a room (even with a radio
playing in the background and another person in the room watching) a
performance of a dance, although identical movements and accompaniments
might be found in a performance.
The use of random movements is another rejection of formalized dance
movement. Merce Cunningham, who has collaborated extensively with
avant-garde composer John Cage, uses random selection methods for the
choice of steps and step-sequences in his dance performances. Even in
Cunningham's works, however, the movements themselves are usually part
of "formal" dance vocabularies, and at least some of his
dances, although choreographed using chance, remain fixed for succeeding
performances. (40)
"Randomness" is used more extensively in improvisational works
by experimental dance groups. (41)
When the improvised movements are "everyday"movements, without
the accompaniment of music, it is difficult to distinguish the
performance from theater, especially mime. Randomness and everyday
movements again suggest that dance is in part a function of something
other than the
/p. 32
characteristics of the movement per se, such as the
relationship between spectator and performer and the standards for
appreciating and evaluating the movements. The room-walking would be art
if the walker did it for the purpose of being observed, appreciated, and
evaluated as a performance by the other person, and if the observer also
appreciated the movement as a performance, despite the absence of a
traditional theater. Standards for appreciation and evaluation as dance
might involve unity, meaningfulness, and so forth, rather than non-art
standards of, say, how efficiently the walker crossed the room to answer
the doorbell or how carefully he walked to avoid toys on the floor.
Traditional assumptions about the role of music are also being
challenged. Historically, views on the role of music have shifted from
(1) the belief that music should provide only the "beat," but
otherwise not "interfere" with the dancing; to (2) the
nineteenth-century view that music should complement, but not overwhelm,
the mood of the dance; to (3) the twentieth-century view that music and
dance should be integrally related, with the dance providing a
visualization and expansion of the complex relationships in the music.
Avant-garde choreographers challenge all of these views.
Cunningham has experimented with dances to the accompaniment of
randomly-selected music, with the intention of creating dances which may
not even coincide with, let along express, anything in the music. (42)
Examples of dances done in silence exist. (43)
Other choreographers are experimenting
/p. 33
with highly unorthodox forms of musical and other accompaniment, such
as typewriters, (44)
whistling, (45) and
electronically tape-recorded music. (46)
Avant-garde choreographers are also questioning the necessity, not
only of narrative, but of any expression of emotional or dramatic
content. John Cage sums up this exploration of "pure
movement":
We are not, in these dances, saying anything. We are simple-minded
enough to think that if we were saying something we would use words. (47)
Cage does not develop these tantalizing comments, but he seems to
reject all expression of emotion, representation, and meaning because
such things can be better communicated with words. Earlier in this
century, a major concern of avant-garde reformers was making dance truly
expressive of human emotions, in contrast with what they considered to
be the emotionally vacuous classical ballet. (48)
Some of today's avant-garde have swung to the other extreme, attempting
to "free" movement from any dramatic or emotional content at
all, (49) a trend making it
difficult to distinguish such dance from athletics in terms of emotional
content.
Traditional assumptions about scenery, props, and costuming are also
questioned. Contemporary choreographers are incorporating into their
productions film, (50) closed
circuit television, (51)
slide shows, (52) and
videotapes. (53) Others use
such unusual props as oranges which are then distributed to the audience
at intermission. (54)
Innovations in scenery have ranged from silhouettes behind project
screens, (55) or no
/p. 34
scenery at all, (56)
to Merce Cunningham's random selection of scenery, (57)
and Alwin Nikolais' efforts to make the dancers indistinguishable from
the scenery. (58)
Contemporary innovations in costuming range from the frequent use of
only practice clothes, to the use of designer fashions and formal
dinnerwear, (59) to outright
nudity. (60)
Some have also rejected traditional seating arrangements, especially
the proscenium stage. Selma Jeanne Cohen summarizes several such
experiments:
. . . Cunningham . . . [took] his dances into art galleries to find
new ways to defocus movements in space. Others tried city squares and
parks, some of them devising pieces for such specific environments
that they could be done nowhere else. Twyla Tharp did Medley (1969) on
a college campus, where she used a tremendous expanse of lawn. . .
Rudy Perez choreographed a ballet for automobiles (with drivers)
performed in a parking lot . . . James Cunningham's dancers finished a
gymnasium presentation by running up to the bleachers and inviting the
audience to join them in social dancing. (61)
Even when they do use a traditional stage, avant-garde choreographers
are apt to reject traditional uses, emphasizing the corners of the
stage, for example, instead of the center front. (62)
Notably, however, these changes in physical performing space have not
tampered with the traditional distinction between spectator and
performer.
Some would say the various avant-garde innovations not only raise
questions about traditional definitions of dance, but needlessly erode
such definitions. (63) Other
critics are more accommodating; Robert J. Pierce has said that
/p. 35
. . . the avant-gardists have not rejected the most basic elements of
dance; space, time, energy, human bodies. They are taking those
elements and restructuring them in ways that challenge our principles
and aesthetics. (64)
It is not clear how much importance should be given to these
avant-garde experiments in analyzing and defining dance. The intentional
rejection of accepted standards renders almost impossible reliance on a
simple listing of characteristics, whether construed as necessary,
sufficient, or incidental. However, the fact that experimenters single
out certain characteristics as the objects of their rejection implicitly
confirms the importance of those characteristics in the artform. A
choreographer defiantly designing a dance with no movement in a context
centering on the expectation and evaluation of movement is making a bold
statement that actually confirms the centrality of human movement
in dance.
The difficulty defining dance to include both traditional views over
several centuries and more recent experiments is similar to the
challenge in all artforms presented by avant-garde experiments. Arthur
Danto and George Dickie have developed analyses which seem determined to
accommodate all such avant-garde experiments in the arts, although
neither addresses dance specifically or in detail. Danto is concerned
that "definition is incompatible with revolution, and it is
analytical to the concept of art that the class of artworks may always
be revolutionized by admission into it of objects different from all
heretofore acknowledged artworks." (65)
His solution for explaining why an ordinary, real
/p. 36
thing can sometimes be a work of art derives from recognizing that
art ". . . puts reality at a distance." (66)
But it is not always possible to tell simply by perceiving the thing
whether it is ". . . in candidacy for an interpretation, title, and
structure;" we can make this determination that "something is
an artwork . . . only relative to certain art-historical
presuppositions." (67)
Anita Silvers has criticized the attempts of Danto, and also Dickie,
to characterize art in terms of something other than the constituents of
the object in question by defining ". . . art relative to cultural,
social, or historical conditions." (68)
Dickie uses "agents" of the artworld to confer the status of
art on objects, while Danto's test is whether the object can be subsumed
under an aesthetic theory. Silvers notes that the problem with Dickie's
". . . approach is that it makes it much too easy for objects to
qualify as art" (69) and
ignores the fact that "the point of calling something art is to
classify rather than to [merely] individuate it." (70)
Further, classifying art is tied up with evaluating art:
. . . when we find ourselves wanting to classify new objects as art,
we typically justify our classificatory use of "art" by
arguing that, according to the newly formulated theory, the object,
odd as it may be, can be shown to possess aesthetic value and
therefore should be honored by being called "art." (71)
Silvers does not actually propose a definition of art in terms of
criteria such as "artifactuality" or "significant
form," but she re-opens the search for such conditions of
/p. 37
arthood, from both criteria for classification and evaluation.
Silvers' criticism of Danto similarly rejects reliance upon some
external context, specifically, the application of some art theory as
transforming an ordinary object into an art object. She argues that
there is no way to preserve a boundary between art and non-art under
this approach, because there is no explanation for why a theory should
be applied to one object, but not to another perceivably indiscernible
from it. (72) Silvers'
alternative is to consider the art object as the physical thing plus
whatever "activities" by the artist make it an artwork. These
activities, she says, ". . . should be counted as elements of his
artistic product." (73)
She does not attempt to reconcile this with the intentional fallacy,
although she admits that her view ". . . count[s] elements which
are not immediately present and directly perceivable as constituents of
aesthetic objects. . . ." (74)
But Silvers' theory is subject to the same criticism she raises against
Danto. Art objects are not distinguishable according to whether they are
subsumed under an art theory, she says, because we cannot specify a
concept of "art theory" that makes the desired distinction.
But the notion of "artistic activities" is no more
satisfactory. If the activity of putting something on display in a
theater makes ordinary walking an example of the artform of dance, why
does not the activity of an audience member in walking down
/p. 38
the aisle to show off a new gown makes that walking an example of
dance?
I believe the solution is to shift the test of the borderline between
art and non-art from the creator or performer to the perceiver. When I
perceive an artwork, whether to appreciate it or to evaluate it, I often
have no knowledge of the artist's acts of "christening" or of
some theorists's subsuming of the object under a theory or of the
artist's activities. I might make inferences about those things by the
fact that the work has ended up in a situation in which I can raise the
question of whether this is a work of art, but I cannot and need not be
certain about those things. What is important in my appreciation and
evaluation are the activities, theories, and criteria for evaluation I
can bring to the work.
Because of established conventions in ballet performances, I do not
consider the aisle-walker an object of aesthetic appreciation. But
because of different conventions in some avant-garde circles, I might
consider activity of people who appear to be audience members in the
aisle the proper object of appreciation. The avant-garde choreographer
might have planned the aisle-walker's presence and activities. But it is
also not unlikely today in dance that the aisle walker was not planned
by the choreographer originally, but that critics and audience took it
to be part of the performance, leading the choreographer to later accept
it as such and perhaps to add that performance element later. Many
/p. 39
things also happen on stage which are "accidents," not
intended by choreographer or performer, yet which are appreciated as
part of the work by critics and audiences and which might later be
intentionally incorporated by the choreographer.
My view does not result in total autonomy for audiences and critics
in determining what counts as art, because they do not create situations
which are candidates for such appreciation. Choreographers present such
candidates and theorists discuss them and bring them to the attention of
perceivers. Without those contributions, perceivers would not have the
raw materials for making their determinations. But it is a mistake to
say that the determination of what counts as the art object is made by
those persons behind the scenes, especially since we often cannot know
what those persons intended.
Because of the centrality of perceivers, we can account for different
definitions of dance in history. What was considered non-art in the
eighteenth century might now be considered art because the conventions
for appreciation and evaluation have changed. It is also clear why
analysis of dance must explicitly identify the context and purpose of
the analysis, whether to determine what was considered dance in previous
centuries or now.
Critics and choreographers provide definitions not only to describe
phenomena as it exists, but also to make normative assertions about what
good dance is or what the artform should become. Philosophers discussing
dance have limited
/p. 40
themselves largely to the former descriptive function.
Etienne Gilson seems to treat as necessary conditions human movement,
with formal beauty and non-utilitarian purpose. He characterizes dance
as ". . . a wholly special order of the arts whose aim is to impart
a formal beauty to the human being himself: to his body, his soul, or to
both taken together," (75)
and as ". . . the a rt which orders the natural bodily movement by
imparting to them a form which is pleasing in itself, independently of
any other end." (76)
Gilson characterizes 'ballet" as a distinct type of dance, using
several other artforms:
A ballet is a theatrical representation in dance form: it requires a
play acted by dancers and mimes. . .; further, it requires the art of
painting for the decor and the costumes; at times, as in the
opera-ballet, it also requires poetry and spoken or declaimed
language; and, finally, music always. (77)
Gilson's understanding of "ballet" is much narrower than
current usage, in his requirement of narrative, music, costumes, and
scenery, but his definition implies that those things are not necessary
for "dance."
Joanne Friesen also characterizes "dance" in terms of the
movement itself, rather than any theatrical trappings. Instead of
relying on such characteristics of the movement as "formal
beauty," she says, "Dance is energy which exists in space and
time." (78) This
incorporates "spatial design" which, at its best, imparts
". . . unity and balance as well as vitality, clarity, and
variety," (79)
suggesting that "formal design" is a necessary condition for
Friesen. The
/p. 41
temporal element encompasses ". . . the structure of movement
patterns and the characteristic rhythms within the dance," (80)
including the rhythms of propulsion, breath, unconscious functions, and
emotions. To explain "energy," Friesen refers to a certain
sort of human movement which conveys a sense of "energy." (81)
She thus does not rely on any particular dramatic or expressive element,
nor upon such unenlightening concepts as "formal beauty," but
her use of "energy" is easily as obscure.
Virgil Aldrich's approach is both more expansive and more restrictive
than those of Friesen and Gilson. When he says, "A good dance is a
mobilized statue," (82)
he links dance with visual, spatial arts, as well as "temporal and
rhythmic elements," (83)
as does Friesen. He goes farther in suggesting that, necessarily, the
". . . patterns of actions . . . expressively portrays something. .
. ," (84) either a story
of "almost any subject matter (theme) . . . ." (85)
He adds a normative factor in urging that ". . . dance at its best
. . . tends to minimize, or discard altogether, narrative content in
favor of the fusion of sculptured movement and music," (86)
but this leaves the expression of emotion or other non-narrative meaning
as a necessary condition. His reference to "pattern" suggests
the necessity of some formal design. When Aldrich says, "Dancing is
usually done to music," (87) he does not
indicate awareness of Friesen's much broader range of non-musical
rhythms, nor does he seem to think that music is a necessary condition.
/p. 42
Selma Jeanne Cohen observes, "The designing of the movement of
the human body is the unique property of dance as an art medium," (88)
but ". . . there is no problem at all to finding forms of
rhythmical bodily movement that are not dancing." (89)
She thus uses the characteristic of being rhythmical as necessary, but
not sufficient. She then tries to identify those properties which make
certain kinds of human movement examples of the artform of dance,
properties which might be shared with other artforms.
"Expressiveness" only partially defines dance, (90)
as she notes that this characteristic is shared with the movement of
pantomime. She thus considers expressiveness to be necessary, but not
sufficient. She also says that dance movement can be appreciated for its
own sake, independent of any particular meaning, thus distinguishing
dance from pantomime, and implicitly indicating her epistemological
views. (91) As with lyric
poetry, dance is ". . . both rhythmic and expressive," with
". . . an important sensuous appeal." (92)
"Stylized" movement is also a characteristic of some dance,
for Cohen, although it might use only "natural gesture." (93)
Like Aldrich, she says, "A dance is usually performed to
music," (94) but she
also considers dance without music, ". . . related, however, by a
common pulse, . . ." (95)
using an expansive concept of rhythm more like Friesen's. For Cohen,
necessary conditions include human movement, rhythm, and expressiveness,
but not "formalized" movement or music.
Philosophers seem to avoid labelling characteristics as
/p. 43
"necessary" or sufficient," possibly because of
reluctance to re-enter the well-known, inconclusive debate over whether
it is possible to specify such conditions for "art" or for a
particular artform. Yet several, as just noted, do treat some
characteristics as necessary, including human movement (Gilson, Friesen,
Aldrich, Cohen), formally-designed movement (Gilson, Friesen, Aldrich),
expressiveness (Friesen, Aldrich, Cohen), and music or rhythm (Friesen,
Cohen). One source of the reluctance to specify necessary and sufficient
conditions in the ease with which exceptions can be found to proffered
definitions.
James K. Feibleman, over thirty years ago, very explicitly sought to
identify "of what it is that the art of the dance primarily
consists." (96) He said
"there must be an element common to all sorts of dances sufficient
to enable us to recognize that they are dances." (97)
He finally concluded ". . . that the dance is an art in which the
human body exclusively is employed in order to actualize values beyond
the human which were not hitherto actualized, or to enrich such values
having but a tenuous hold on existence." (98)
This proposal is, of course, fraught with difficulties. He nowhere
acknowledges, let alone explains, the role of music and other factors in
dance performances, diminishing the explanatory capability of his
theories. His proposal also seems to apply to mime and perhaps theater.
A very recent effort has been made by Janice Rio to solve these
problems endemic to searches for necessary and
/p. 44
sufficient conditions, borrowing from the approach of Peter
Achinstein in philosophy of science on semantic and nonsemantic
relevance. (99) She
summarizes this concept as follows:
If a property is relevant for being an x, then given that an
item possesses certain properties and lacks others in such a way that
it is a candidate for being an x, the fact that the item
possesses (or lacks) the property in question normally will count, at
least to some extent, in favor of (or against) concluding that it is
an x; and if it possesses (or lacks) sufficiently many
properties of certain sorts, the fact that the item possesses (or
lacks) the property in question may justifiably be held to settle
whether it is an x. (100)
She proposes that "x is dancing" can be understood through
a long list of semantic and descriptive features. The former are those
which, alone, make someone classifiable as dancing while the later do
not, but would contribute to such a finding. Although this is a decided
improvement over Feibleman, it is still too easy to find
counter-examples. For example, the four semantic factors ("medium
of bodily movement which allows x to step from one foot to
another," movement lasting "for some substantial
interval," travelling "through a space," and using
"rhythmical bodily movement" (101))
also characterize everything from mime to wedding marches.
Further, her response to avant-garde experiments is simply to deny
that they constitute dancing, because to include them would result in
". . . an almost vacuous use of the term," (102)
(dancing). But the increasing frequency of such performances makes this
unacceptable. One of the examples she rejects as non-dancing is on an
actual program, in
/p. 45
which the dancer ". . . simply walked briskly around the stage
in heels and a dress." (103)
There are numerous examples more bizarre than this. It is comparatively
simple, as Rio has attempted, to develop a list of characteristics that
account for Giselle and Rodeo. There are thus two major
problems with Achinstein's analysis. First, it does not deal with the
troublesome avant-garde experiments. Second, it does not distinguish
dance from similar artforms. The alternative approach here is to define
dance in terms of two types of factors: (a) necessary and sufficient
characteristics of the performance phenomenon, and (b) standards for
appreciation and evaluation used by audiences and critics in perceiving
the performance.
These philosophical definitions show often disappointing distortions
and inadequacies, as well as some sloppy conceptual analysis.
Philosophers have been especially interested in the expressive character
of dance and the primitive, non-artistic roots of the artform. While the
variety of components of dance has been acknowledged, their role and
necessity (e.g., the role of music) have been largely unexamined.
B. Distinguishing Dance from Other Human Phenomena
Some definitions of dance are inadequate because they fail to
distinguish dance from non-dance movement. Thomas Munro's broad
definition is an extreme example of this inadequacy:
Dance is an art of rhythmic bodily movement,
/p. 46
presenting to the observer an ordered sequence of moving visual
patterns of line, solid shape, and color. The postures and gestures of
which these are made suggest kinesthetic experiences of tension,
relaxation, etc., and emotional moods and attitudes associated with
them. They may also represent imaginary characters, actions, and
stories. Dances are performed by one person or two or more in mutual
coordination; some animals can be trained to do simple dances. The
movements are usually synchronized with, and partly aided by, musical
or other rhythmic sounds. In theatrical forms, they are often combined
with appropriate effects of decor (costume, scenery, lighting, and
other stage equipment). . . . (104)
Like Gilson, Munro limits "ballet" to a specific type of
dance, "story-ballets:"
Ballet is a variety of dance, or of other group movements in rhythm
for artistic or entertainment purposes, usually presented in a theater
by dancers moving in complex coordination with the aid of music and
decor. It usually involves the dramatic enactment of a story through
pantomime, as well as the presentation of changing visual designs in
ordered sequence. (105)
Munro's definitions are helpful in setting out a wide range of
characteristics, and they include almost every conceivable example of
dance. Unfortunately, they also describe many examples of human movement
that most would hesitate to include in the artform of dance, such as
circuses, ice shows, and gymnastics.
Human movement is clearly not a sufficient characteristic of dance,
as a wide range of human phenomena involve human movement, as well as
many other characteristics asso-
/p. 47
ciated with dance. Although not the only test of an adequate
definition, an important function of definition is distinction of the
movement of dance from these other types of human movement. (106)
philosopher David Best recently attempted to distinguish movement
generally from dance movement. (107)
Although he persuasively argues that the difference cannot be specified
in terms of inner feelings, which are not perceivable to observers, he
concludes, unsatisfactorily, that the difference is solely one of
context. (108) That only
pushes the problem back one step, as he provides not a hint of the sorts
of differences between contexts that make some the context of
performances and others not. Similarly, he distinguishes art from sport
in terms of the differing conventions of each, (109)
but he does not attempt to spell out what those differences are, or
examples of what such conventions might be.
Best also reveals a too-narrow view of art, in rejecting claims that
some sports are, or are like, art forms, insisting on the potential of
artworks for representational content, (110)
and claiming that "the arts are characteristically concerned with
contemporary moral, social, political, and emotional issues." (111)
If that were true, either much avant-garde experimentation must be
rejected as non-art, or the terms "moral, social, political, or
emotional" must be stretched beyond meaningfulness.
Best also attacks the claim "that there is rhythm in
/p. 48
all movement" (112)
by showing how dance theorists have shifted illegitimately between
various senses of "rhythm" in defending the claim. Best notes,
for example, that a consequence of the claim that all movement is
rhythmic is "the loss of a useful distinction" between
"rhythmic movements and . . . non-rhythmic movements." (113)
But he does not always play fair. To show that a definition of rhythm as
"force manifest in muscle action" is inadequate, he notes,
properly, that one test of a definition is whether it can be substituted
for the word being defined. He then, unfairly, uses a line from a song,
"I got rhythm," for his test of sameness: "I got force
manifest in muscle action." (114)
The test is only fairly applied, of course, to a sentence from ordinary
discourse which uses the term in a straightforward sense. His discussion
of rhythm includes a rare reference to dance as an artform, a quotation
from Alwin Nikolais, that "Movement does not have to be rhythmic at
all to be dance." (115)
Unfortunately, Best himself leaves unexamined his shifting analyses
between ordinary movement and the movement of the artform of dance.
He explains, convincingly, that what is "good" depends on
"what category or in which context it is to be understood." (116)
A "good" paperweight is evaluated by a different set of
criteria than a "good"piece of sculpture. But he tells us
nothing about how to determine the criteria within a particular context,
or whether those criteria in aesthetic contexts are objective or
inherently subjective, or how
/p. 49
one would set about to answer these questions. Because of the
explanatory potential of contrasts between dance and similar human
phenomena, these are worth exploring in some detail.
An important borderline phenomenon is "floor exercise" in
women's gymnastics, which consists of human movement choreographed in
advance and performed to the accompaniment of music. The movements are
often both rhythmic and expressive, and they are sometimes praised for
being balletic. (117) Yet
most would hesitate to call floor exercise a clear-cut example of the
artform of dance. Acrobatics is also considered a form of sport or
athletics, yet it too consists of human movement, usually to the
accompaniment of music, and sometimes with costuming and scenery.
Distinguishing the artform of dance from the athletic forms of
gymnastics and acrobatics is also difficult because of the
twentieth-century trend, in both classical ballet and avant-garde dance,
to increasingly "athletic" and "acrobatic"
movements. (118) The
phenomena presented in dance performances and acrobatic exhibitions may
be strikingly similar, although there has been critical disagreement
over the value of this trend in dance. Arnold Haskell has struggled with
how to explain the difference between such art and sport:
The difference between dancing and acrobatics lies not so much in
technique as in a state of mind . . . The pure dancer performs his
steps, however complex, with the conception of the dance as a whole,
being guided by the music, concealing his difficulties, and making his
climax an artistic one. He is depicting
/p. 50
a definite idea. The acrobat performs his steps in such a fashion as
to underline the difficulty of the task. In this case the drama is
implicit in the physical performance. He is putting a question to the
audience: 'will I get through without a tumble or not?' (119)
But if the difference between dancing and acrobatics lies solely
in the performer's state of mind, then some phenomenal presentations
simply cannot be identified as either dance or acrobatics, unless the
contents of the performer's mind can be known. It seems highly
undesireable to rest such a crucial distinction solely on one factor
which in practice often could not be determined. Contemporary athletes,
especially those in floor exercise, might also dispute the claim that
they perform without a conception of the "whole" or that they
strive primarily to make their movements look as difficult as possible.
Dance theorist Lincoln Kirstein is more sanguine about the
similarities between dance and acrobatics, suggesting perhaps that
acrobatics are one element of dance, along with others.
By definition, the dance is acrobatic. The dancer's only tool
is in his or her proper human body. This tool is a universal
instrument, capable of infinite articular use. But all its uses must
be watched clearly by an audience seated at some distance from their
actual movement. (120)
Kirstein introduces the important convention of distance between
performer and audience, although acrobats and gymnasts also have
audiences. More informatively, choreogra-
/p. 51
pher George Balanchine suggests the primacy of technical skill and
manifest danger to distinguish acrobatics from dance:
[The intention of acrobats] is to prove complete mastery of their own
body; to challenge themselves and the imagination of their audience;
and to perform with "ease" in the face of danger. The dancer
too must show his mastery of muscular coordination. But he does not
stress "ease" in relation to the encountered dance. His
presentation is an aesthetic manifestation. The element of danger is,
in his case, non-existent, or reduced to a minimum . . . [The dancer's
movements] should never be a piece of showmanship only to prove the
dancer's muscular strength and technical skill. This is the acrobat's
domain. (121)
Philosopher Gilson's distinction is similar to Balanchine's
especially regarding the emphasis on danger and technical skill in
acrobatics:
[Acrobatics] is also an art of the body in motion which has a beauty
of its own, but it is not one of the fine arts because its principal
end is not to create beauty but to give proof of skill, strength,
suppleness and courage pushed, if necessary, to the point of rashness.
(122)
These comments suggest that, although acrobatics and dance may
contain similar phenomenal presentations, they are presented in
different contexts, with differences in both the mental attitude of the
performer and the audience's understanding of why the movements are
done. In acrobatics, movements are ends in themselves, done for their
own sake. In dance, movements are means to a more complex end, such as
the conveyance of emotions and dramatic import. This approach has the
advantage of being objectively discernible,
/p. 52
in contrast with Haskell's reliance on hidden intentions of the
performer, although it is still too simple, for acrobats convey such
emotions as fear, pride, and cheerfulness.
Gilson claims that both dance and acrobatics have "beauty,"
but it is not clear whether he uses "beauty" in the same sense
in both contexts, or what he means by "beauty." He says
elsewhere that dance differs from sports in that ". . . their end
is utility, not beauty." (123)
It is not clear whether he means to ascribe beauty to acrobatics at all,
what "beauty" would mean in the context of sport, nor how
sports have any more "utility" than art.
In sum, dance and acrobatics cannot be distinguished in terms of the
attitudes of the performers (although these may in fact differ), but can
be distinguished by the performance context, including the attitude and
expectations of the audience, the purposes for which performances are
given, and thus, the standards by which they are evaluated. This
context, at least, is not strictly or primarily the mastery of danger
and technical skills, even if these are present.
Figure skating is also on the fringes of dance and sport, with human
movement, music, costumes, lighting, and sometimes scenery. A typical
ice show has been described as a ". . . mélange of athletics,
dance, mime, music, song, circus, variety show, and sartorial spectacle,
. . . [falling] somewhere between 'The Nutcracker' and the circus."
(124) the movements in figure skating are
evaluated according to criteria used in evaluating dance performances,
such as
/p. 53
grace, expressiveness, and technical prowess. Figure skating uses
special apparatus for the feet (figure skates) and a special surface for
performing (ice), but classical ballet uses blocked pointe shoes and a
special wooden floor. Differences in apparatus are hardly sufficient to
account for the very different categorizations of these phenomena as
"art" and "sport."
Thomas Munro's approach is not to draw fine lines, but to stretch the
meaning of "ballet" and "dance" to encompass these
diverse activities:
. . . recently, the term "ballet" has been extended to
organized group movements with artistic purpose, executed by ice
skaters, roller skaters, swimmers on the surface, or swimmers under
water in glass tanks. The movements of these last seem to approximate
flying. The mass evolutions of aviators also resemble ballets in
certain respects, and can be performed as a spectacle. Rhythmic
movements of abstract forms, as in the film, have been called
"dances." Thus the basic ideas of dance as an art of
rhythmic movement, and of ballet as an art of group rhythmic movement,
can be extended far beyond their narrow, traditional meanings. (125)
The problem with this broadened usage is loss of important
distinctions between art and sport which, although difficult to
articulate, exist in actual practice.
Critic Clive Barnes differentiates ice-dancing from theatrical
dancing in terms of the greater excitement and continuity of the latter:
Why is it that dancers on ice can never quite offer the same
excitement that dancers can on land? I think it is simply the lack of
friction, which makes it both too easy and too
/p. 54
monotonous. Also, even with the best skaters, jumps become a break in
continuity of a movement. . . One advantage they do have over their
stage brethren, however. They move backward as easily as forward, and
with the same kinetic and dynamic pressure. (126)
This distinction identifies alleged advantages of the respective |
New Dance Categories:
