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Amel Tafsout
Workshop
Helston – Cornwall
5 October 2002
To think it was Cornwall that provided
the opportunity to indulge and immerse myself in a one day workshop with an Algerian free-spirited dancer, Amel Tafsout. Covering Berber and Nubian styles we forgot the formalities of western classes and
with the help of S-Dawson Miller,
were transported to the dusty earth of north Africa with the sound of the drum. The
sun screamed out to us, pushing her last warmth of Autumn onto the floors of the modern school hall. Attempts to hide her glare failed.
My
first experience of Amel’s workshop was a taster at Glastonbury dance festival in July where she touched so briefly
on Sufism/Trance in an hour and a half class, in a sports hall filled with at least 30 women. Now I stood in a shaded space
with a small group of ten colourful women. Her warmth and authenticity filled
the emptiness of the state owned building and for 4 hours we lost all sense of time through ancient dance.
Amel
is direct, her movements so natural you sense it was passed through her blood from her mother and her mother’s mother.
It looks so easy, but our rigid bodies were not encouraged from birth to create shapes with weight and fluidity. All English
conformity is thrown out of the window as the women are inspired to celebrate their sensuality and femininity and not be afraid
or embarrassed to let go. This should become part of the National curriculum!
Shimmying
hips with maximum effort, yet the movement appears small, like a tremble, concentrated and focused. The detail is intense but the movements liberating. Amel moves to one of the ladies shaking her arms like
a rag doll ‘relax, let your arms hang’, one by one the ladies are touched by her charm. For even if it only takes
ten women a month to release their inhibitions and allow the roots of their trees to spread and their trunks and branches
to grow forth, then we are blessed. Women transform through the power of Egyptian
dance. In time their stiff isolations and rotations slide sensually, hypnotized by the earthy drum.
Salah
and Amel work closely as a team, he watches our every move and has no qualms in correcting our footing! Her focus this lesson is on the ‘fertility dance’, and with a scarf held in each hand we twirl
the cloth throwing colour in the air. Hooking the cloth over the back of our
partner’s neck as she grips our ‘half moon’ (bottom) with hers, we pull and resist, dancing playfully. The dance embraces touch, closeness, community – all the essential human elements
that are being lost. But not on this day.
workshop with an Algerian free-spirited dancer,
Amel Tafsout. Covering Berber and Nubian styles we forgot the formalities of
western classes and with the help of Salah-Dawson Miller, were transported to the dusty earth of north Africa with the sound of
the drum. The sun screamed out to us, pushing her last warmth of Autumn onto
the floors of the modern school hall. Attempts to hide her glare failed.
My first experience of Amel’s workshop was a taster at Glastonbury dance festival in July where she touched
so briefly on Sufism/Trance in an hour and a half class, in a sports hall filled with at least 30 women. Now I stood in a
shaded space with a small group of ten colourful women. Her warmth and authenticity
filled the emptiness of the state owned building and for 4 hours we lost all sense of time through ancient dance.
Amel is direct, her movements so natural you sense it was passed through her blood from her mother and her mother’s
mother. It looks so easy, but our rigid bodies were not encouraged from birth to create shapes with weight and fluidity. All
English conformity is thrown out of the window as the women are inspired to celebrate their sensuality and femininity and
not be afraid or embarrassed to let go. This should become part of the National
curriculum!
Shimmying hips with maximum effort, yet the movement appears small, like a tremble, concentrated and focused. The detail is intense but the movements liberating. Amel moves to one of the ladies
shaking her arms like a rag doll ‘relax, let your arms hang’, one by one the ladies are touched by her charm.
For even if it only takes ten women a month to release their inhibitions and allow the roots of their trees to spread and
their trunks and branches to grow forth, then we are blessed. Women transform
through the power of Egyptian dance. In time their stiff isolations and rotations slide sensually, hypnotized by the earthy
drum.
Salah and Amel work closely as a team, he watches our every move and has no qualms in correcting our footing! Her focus this lesson is on the ‘fertility dance’, and with a scarf held
in each hand we twirl the cloth throwing colour in the air. Hooking the cloth
over the back of our partner’s neck as she grips our ‘half moon’ (bottom) with hers, we pull and resist,
dancing playfully. The dance embraces touch, closeness, community – all
the essential human elements that are being lost. But not on this day.
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Roma dance
Former Indian Prime Minister Indira Ghandi summarized the state
of the Romani people perfectly in her opening speech at the International Romani Festival in India in 1983:"There are some
15 million Roma dispersed across the world. Their history is one of suffering and misery, but it is also one of the victories
of human spirit over the blows of fate. Today the Roma revive their culture and are looking for their identity. On the other
hand, they integrate into the societies in which they live. If they are understood by their fellow citizens in their new homelands,
their culture will enrich the society's atmosphere with the color and charm of spontaneity."
Sitting in the large warm studio of Dans Bulusma, my feet twitching to get up
and join the young gypsy dancers, I watched, spellbound by the beauty and magic of their movement. Three afternoons that week I had stood on the same floor,
sweating and frustrated, attempting to move my body to the simplified steps that my teacher Aytul Hasaltun patiently broke
down. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, I counted, step right, step left, step back hop, flick left,
flick right hop , jump twist twist! Writing this down in short-hand made so much sense at the time! ‘Simdi’ (now),
Aytul would begin, demonstrating, and communicating through the language barrier with our bodies. I was taken on a mystical
journey on the top floor of an old large staircased building overlooking a mosque, where often we’d hear the call for
prayer reverberating through the studio as we retraced the steps adding arms or changing direction.
The intention of my trip to Istanbul was to be taught some form of Oriental dance in the land where
the dance was manifested and spread to Europe. With some exposure to other styles through Majma and Glastonbury dance festival
workshops, my desire was to be taught in Istanbul, where east meets west.
Roman music can be very fast, so the dance I was taught has a slower beat, enabling the hops, jumps
and steps to fit in. When learning a new dance it is fundamental for me to be able to count the rhythm. With some of the songs
I heard I found it impossible. The night I had a private lesson with Gullu, one
of Turkey’s leading female pop-star; I was unable to pick up the steps
that came so naturally to her as the rhythm totally threw me. At one point due to my frustration I thought I was wasting her
time, being taught at her level without the foundations was too complicated for me.
The ability of breaking a movement down, simplifying it, enables the body to map out the patterns. Dance is about rhythm
and patterns, feeling the music and overriding the brain’s thinking mechanism, which can restrict the creative flow.
At times I felt robotic working through each step, again, and again, programming each move where in time all the motions will
be set in place.
Facing the large walled mirror, Aytul’s
arms flowed to the melody of the Taqsim inticing me to discard all I’d
known and embrace the dance with charisma and grace. Aytul teaches Gypsy children from the Beyoglu area as part of her interest
in working as a co-operative, where everyone helps each other. Her friends bring
the girls to her where she offers them Contempory dance classes for free.
The
bright yellow taxi stopped outside the Galata Tower, for the last time I would walk the cobbled roads and narrow streets
leading me to Dans Bulusma where I had been invited to watch a class of teenage gypsies, whose parents are not so keen for
them to learn; whose lives are so alien to conformity and education. Society is unable to control them and so throughout the world they are ostracised and abused. After their lesson she played a CD of a Roman Orchestra familiar to the class, I was introduced to the
spirit of the Gypsies, they are born dancing; - Their presence and enthusiasm virtually bouncing off the walls.
With their dance tears welled as my spirit
and body remembered such freedom, leaving me inspired and blessed.
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