Dance of the basketball

This past fall as part of Barbara Dickinson's "Introduction to Dance" course, a few classmates and I choreographed and performed an original three to five minute dance program. The trick was the dance had to interpret an object of our choice, and the object couldn't be included in the dance. In an attempt to remain on at least remotely familiar ground, my group chose a basketball.

Now I'd danced before. I'd played lots of ball before. I'd even performed in front of audiences before. But all that time, I'd never tried to interpret anything. Neither had either of the other guys in the group. Things were looking grim.

We spent four hours brainstorming and writing down moves. We spent another four hours linking them together. We got scrapes and bruises from falling on the floor. We got sore muscles from stretching our bodies in ways they were obviously not meant to be stretched. We revised. We polished. We scrapped routines and started anew. In the end we found some music, went on stage and played basketball--albeit without an actual ball. That in itself was enough to produce a coherent and entertaining piece. It was, in and of itself, enough to earn at least two of us an "A" in the class. It was itself a dance.

Since that class, my involvement with the Duke dance program has included, among other things, an hour-long lesson in swing dancing, an in-depth study on the role of dancing at fraternity kegs, and even a brief stint as an amateur choreographer. It has run the gamut from watching videos to watching live performances of dancers who performed completely nude. And it has expanded, far beyond my expectations, my view of just what dance is and can be.

Abe Wehmiller is a Trinity senior and assistant sports editor of The Chronicle.