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Richard Frye, 19, a student dancer at New York University’s Tisch School of Arts, wasn’t comfortable with the idea of exposing his body on stage. He did not want to be nude on stage, but the choreographer he was working with suggested non-gendered uniformity in the costumes, resulting in all the dancers bare chested while wearing identical skirts. “Instructors [were] pushing and forcing my body in a way that was physically not possible or not at my comfort level,” Frye says.
There are two types of consent, Frye argues. The first being consent you give when interacting with another dancer, and the second being the consent you give to an instructor or choreographer. “Not as a physical body but as consent you give for the instructor to have control over your body,” Richard says.
But for dancers like Frye, the question of consent is unfolding on stage. This is not the case most of the time. Dancers say they feel a loss of autonomy over the comfortability they feel around suggested movements or costumes. For these performers, there is a fear that they will receive backlash for expressing these concerns, resulting in them not being cast.
There has been a movement to normalize consent in dance for the benefit of all dancers. According to dance students at NYU Tisch, professors ask students for permission before placing their hands on their bodies to offer corrections. Student dancers are also asked to fill out a form about their comfortability with touch. In student choreography, students are encouraged to foster a supportive space where dancers feel comfortable to voice their concerns.
According to the New York Times, professional dance companies are hiring intimacy coordinators for roles that involve sexual or violent touch, as part of a larger goal of normalizing consent in the arts. Since the #MeToo Movement, dancers have been more likely to voice their concerns about any wrongful or unwanted activity. Hiring intimacy coordinators allows dancers and choreographers to have resources that allow for open communication around consent.
Ingibjörg Steingrimsdottir, 21, a student dancer and choreographer at NYU Tisch, believes that consent should be established at the very beginning of any artistic process. “Present what is going to be asked of the dancers, because it is their bodies, they can’t be forced to do something,” Steingrimsdottir says. The same can be said for establishing relationships within dance partnerships. “If the dancer doesn’t give their consent, it is the choreographer’s problem,” she says.
Steingrimsdottir uses consent practices in her choreographic process by asking her dancers if they are okay with certain forms of touch, movements, or even costuming. Steingrimsdottir describes consent as not being set in stone. “Consent is free-flowing; you can change your mind anytime,” she says.
In this way, Steingrimsdottir builds a comfortable relationship with her fellow dancers. She believes that whatever the dance will include, in terms of nudity, touch, or anything out of the ordinary, should be stated prior to the casting process to ensure open communication and dialogue about what will be expected. Furthermore, Steingrimsdottir also believes that, if a dancer’s comfortability concerns come to her attention as far into the process as the middle of rehearsals, then those requests should also be treated with the same validity.
Steingrimsdottir describes instances where she wasn’t comfortable doing certain artistic work, but never felt the courage to speak up. She didn’t want to be “difficult,” she said. “Even if the opportunities are not always exactly what you want.”
“It’s hard to get a job,” she explained. “You want to take every opportunity you can take.”
By consulting with her dancers beforehand, Steingrimsdottir is trying to create a choreographic process where dancers feel comfortable speaking up and expressing their emotions, unlike what she has felt in the past. “Are you ok with being touched there?” Steingrimsdottir says, as a hypothetical question she would ask in her rehearsals.
Sumi Komo, a choreographer, former dancer with Merce Cunningham Dance Company, and Alexander Technique teacher, believes that everyone involved in a dance production needs to have a clear understanding of how to respectfully touch people. “You need a certain type of subtlety of training and understanding [of the body],” Komo says.
Komo thinks there is a fine line between when touch can be helpful and when it is not helpful. For example, she describes an instance of a woman sitting in a shoulder stand in a yoga class. The yoga instructor adjusted her form, and her back went out, which Komo believes was because the instructor did not know how to properly touch the student. She wants instructors to ask permission before touching students.
Steingrimdottir says establishing consent at the beginning is important for dancers to have autonomy over their decisions and what they feel comfortable performing. She believes that consent is a fundamental component of creating performance art.
In Komo’s choreographic work, she focuses on consent while still asking dancers to push themselves. “I’m trying to work and take people to a new place,” Komo says. “I take them somewhere they are not used to.” Komo compels her dancers to explore the boundaries of what they are comfortable with while still maintaining consent and trust during the creative process. “I would never do something I [or the dancers] feel uncomfortable with,” she says.
For example, there was an instance where one of Komo’s dancers was uncomfortable with touch during the rehearsal process. Komo was able to work with the dancer to make them feel comfortable and supported. “I’m a hands-on person, that’s what I do with people,” Komo remarks. However, she does not believe that means that anyone can be touched, still advocating for an understanding of where and how to place hands on the body to make instruction helpful.
Komo herself has experienced non-consensual touch while dancing. She describes an instance in her younger years where a dance instructor put his hands between her legs to pull her out of her pelvis. “I was shocked out of my mind,” Komo explains. “It was not done in an inappropriate way, it was him trying to get me to pull up through my pelvis.” While his actions were out of line, his intentions were in order. Still, she believes that, if this happened today, he would be reported.
“People today are freer, but more frightened,” Komo says. In this new generation of creating new choreographic works, dancers and choreographers are hoping to create a space for open dialogue and communication to allow for respectful creative choices to accommodate needs. Establishing closer relationships between the dancer and choreographer can allow for open communication.
In the case of Richard Frye, his relationship with the choreographer allowed him to express his feelings about not appearing nude. With open dialogue and communication, Frye and the choreographer were able to accommodate his wishes, while also maintaining the choreographer’s artistic vision. The openness in the choreographic setting allowed him “to conquer pre-existing feelings around nudity of his body on stage,” he says matter-of-factly.
Frye feels as though he would not have been able to voice his concern around nudity if he did not have the space for open communication during the rehearsals. Steingrimsdottir’s style of open communication mimics the same choreographer-dancer conversation to create a respectable rehearsal space.
“I hope [consent] becomes normalized,” Steingrimsdottir states. “We should go out of our way to ask for consent.”