LA TIMES - Westside Weekly - Sunday, May 6th, 2001 | |
Free-form dance class
in Culver City uses a simple formula: By KELI DAILEY, photos by Shlomit Levy Bard / LA Times Westside Weekly |
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It's the kind of dancing you do alone in your living room, when you think no one's looking. In a gym in Culver City's historic Helms Bakery building, more than 150 people meet each week to surrender themselves to movement. "You don't have to know how to dance to be here," Jo Cobbett instructs the crowd, using a microphone so she can be heard over the pulsing rhythm of the music and the pounding of bare feet. The dense assemblage of men and women respond to her encouragement in what appears to be an attempt to lunge, twirl and sweat out all their inhibitions. "You just have to listen," Cobbett said. "Can't get it wrong . . . just listen." The class, "Fumbling Toward Ecstasy," plays a perfect foil to the dictated moves and positions employed by the gym's regular guests at Westside Fencing Center. |
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For the last six years, Cobbett and Michael Skelton, who live together in Los Angeles, have created an unrestricted dance environment in which people are carried, pulled along by their feet and sway in each other's arms. Using the methods of Gabrielle Roth, the skylight-drenched space sanctions all manner of spontaneous motion, whether explored in groups, with partners or alone. "It completely accommodates any mood you're in," said Marci Javril, 50, of Mar Vista. "You can sit on the side and soak up the vibe; other times you can rant and rave and no one's going to care." It is this acceptance that the participants, ranging from their early 20s to their 70s and coming from a wide range of vocations, including massage therapy, art, computers, acting, dance and business, extol as the greatest virtue of the class. |
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Kellee McQuinn and Erica Buffett move to the music toward the end of the "Fumbling Toward Ecstasy" class. |
Paula Newsome, overcome with emotion and comforted by fellow dancers, describes the class as a moving meditation. |
"There's an inherent desire among people to feel free and safe," said Irv Sarnoff, 70, of Santa Monica, who's been at "Fumbling Toward Ecstasy" for six months. "It's totally nonjudgmental, especially for me as an older person. It's a space that's allowed me to feel totally open with everyone." The formula is simple: Music plus motion equals creative expression. But Cobbett, 49, a visual artist, and Skelton, 45, who studied dance at UCLA and teaches choreography at Santa Monica College, say their class is about much more than dancing. It's about movement as a spiritual practice. "Many people have their inhibitions about dancing," Cobbett said. " 'Oh, I'm not very graceful. Oh!' " she playfully mocks. "When you get to the place where it doesn't matter how it looks, but how it feels, then you really feel better about being yourself." |
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Computer programmer Peter Duffy, left, says, "It's a very spiritual union of body, mind and soul to dance this way." |
Participants credit the class with helping them become more at ease with themselves and others. Lisa Nemacheck, 34, a professionally trained dancer from Hancock Park, said she went to the class six hours before she got married because she wanted to feel more relaxed and like herself. Now, eight months pregnant, her husband says if she goes into labor on a Sunday, he's bringing her to the class first. Nemacheck also found the class assisted in her emotional recovery after her brother died a year ago. "It helped me process this," she said. "This place is my refuge. It's my church." A nondenominational altar is at the back of the room, with flowing curtains and a modest table for visitors to share fruit or pictures of loved ones, lending a consecrated air to the space. Many participants echo Nemacheck's sentiment of reverence for the class and the community it has created and are devout in their attendance. "I've only missed three times in about two years," said Ricardo Hamright, 48, a contractor and singer from Beverly Hills. He tore a hamstring a week ago but still came to the class with a wrap around his thigh for support. "Sometimes you need a release during the week." |
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Actress Kellee McQuinn, meditating in front of a nondenominational alter in a corner of the room, says, "Dancing with these open-hearted people has changed my life." |
Sarah Rose, left and Caroline Hanna are uninhibited on the dance floor. |
By the end of the class, any barriers to making a connection with other dancers are broken down by closing a circle. Everyone holds hands and, one by one, says their name, offering the first formal introduction of the class. Those who have celebrated a birthday that week are called to the center of smaller circles to be lifted toward the sunlight. Then the community of dancers disperses, the music is packed up and someone pushes a broom across the gym floor. |
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A group of people lift up a fellow dancer whose birthday occurred in the previous week. |
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