Going Tribal

In costume for the Wa Fire Dance

It’s not too often that I get to let my hair down, literally, and it’s even more rare that I get to toss it about without reserve. I’ve never been in a mosh pit or engaged in much head-banging. Maybe I’m missing out, but in dancing this unique piece I don’t particularly feel any loss. 

The Wa people live in the south of China, in the Yunnan province, bordering Burma and Thailand. They also live in those countries as well, but since some technically live within China’s borders I am lucky enough to have the opportunity to learn their dance and culture as a part of my Chinese ethnic dance studies. 

People around the world have tended to respect, fear, and revere the elements as part of cultural tradition. The Wa have their fire worship. The dance I’ve been working on and have performed is a tribute to the nurturing and fearsome powers of fire. It is absolutely the most non-classical and raw tribal movement I’ve ever formally learned, and I love it. 

My hair was to the prop, and the method of head-thrashing was very precise. I admit it felt pretty good once I got the hang of it, as long as I was fully warmed up. Whiplash is not fun.

Having fun after the show with fellow dancer Jenny Fong!

My teacher suggested I flat-iron my hair to make myself look more like the traditional image of a Wa girl, i.e. with long and very incredibly straight hair. My hair is poofy, wavy, and generally given to its own ideas of what shape it will take any particular day. From experience I know that flat-ironing would tame my locks down for about five minutes before rebelling, so I knew that would be a losing battle. (My compromise? Lots of pins.) Besides, I thought: Hey, I’m the person dancing this piece so I might as well be me but in as Wa a way as possible, through my movements. 

While the overall effect of the dance is to be wild and free, I discovered that it takes even more control and discipline to create movements that have form and character; otherwise it becomes nothing more than a messy romp.

That said, even my teacher observed that my body took to this tribal style and choreography more quickly than anything else I’ve ever learned. My mother did always say to me that I was a little wild thing.

A Rose for Valentine's Day

Romance can be experienced in many different ways, whether enjoyed as a couple, with close friends - even family - or during a quiet moment of reflection as an individual in this wonderful world.

I love this ethnic Uighur dance because it celebrates the idea of romance and all the giddy possibilities that come with it, but it's enacted through the bright imagination of one. The inspiration? A red rose. That's all it takes, sometimes!

Wishing You a wonderful Valentine's Day, wherever you are, whoever you're with (or not!), and however you choose to spend your day. An excuse isn't necessary, really. Celebrate life!  

The Show Will Go On!

My left foot was in fairly excruciating pain and I had a couple of hours to decide if I was going to pull out of the show that night. Despite the painkillers and anti-inflammatories, every time I even began to point my foot a sharp stab shot through me, up almost to my knee. I knew I'd landed a bit off one too many times from jumping in rehearsal, and the tiny bones in the top of my foot were probably misaligned. All too often, dancers ignore pain as part of daily wear and tear, until it's a bit late.

I thought I wouldn't be able to dance that evening every time I felt the pain and looked at my swollen foot, but the only times I'd pulled out of a performance were because I was either completely bedridden with the flu or I'd injured myself to the point of not being able to physically leave the house. In other words, if I could get my body out the door, I would dance.

And so I danced, and during those moments onstage I was happy. I could have danced more  - danced bigger without fear - but oddly enough there was no fear in my heart even though my body registered the pain. In fact, I was more anxious about watching the video later, preparing to wince at a half-baked performance. I was relieved to see that I appeared to be enjoying myself as much as I had felt while dancing onstage.

These are the times I pray that the love that burns inside me shines brighter than any technical shortcomings. I hope that you, too, can feel a bit of the joy I wish to give every chance I get to dance.

Rediscovering Why I Dance

Dancing atop the grand staircase at the Asian Art Museum

It’s been another hiatus, but I’m happy to report that I’m back and going strong! After a somewhat low period, my love of dance has been thoroughly reinvigorated. How? By performing! In the months nursing my injury, I’d forgotten what I was working for. It wasn’t until I was called for a job performing for a private event at the Asian Art Museum in San Francisco a couple of months ago that I remembered, with full force, just how much I love to dance.

I’d designed a program that spanned different ethnicities, in styles that would maximize the cultural breadth of China: Yi (southern), Uighur (western), and Han (northeastern). In terms of color, it was: bright pink, bright orange, and bright pink! It’s funny, because blue is my favorite color and I hardly have any costumes in that hue. Still, I’d selected dances and costumes that were diverse from one another and beautifully designed and made.  

I had four sets, from the moment guests arrived in the beautiful foyer to the very end, as they exited. Hello, and goodbye! I received numerous compliments and questions about what ethnicities my costumes and dances represented, which gave me such joy. Although, I do my best to limit any conversation with guests; when performing as a dancer at a function it’s important to stay professional. But, I didn’t want to be rude and ignore people point blank. And of course, I enjoy sharing with people the cultures behind the dance styles.

I warmed up amongst beautiful Chinese porcelains while waiting to perform. 

On the heels of this job was a stage show in which I performed a Yi ethnic minority dance from Yunnan in the south of China. Still on a high from performing at the Asian Art Museum event, I found a renewed energy during my rehearsals. Suddenly, instead of going through the movements, I was actually living the dance. I was ... dancing!

It’s really true; knowing the movements and being able to accomplish the technical requirements of a dance by itself does not constitute dancing. You could call it movement, or a series of linked movements. Dancing, however, is imbued with life. There is a breathing, an ebb and flow, a sense of direction embodied by rhythm and energy. There is a spirit that the movement serves to set free.  

I’d temporarily lost that spirit in the months before. I’d worked diligently on keeping in shape and learning dances, but my heart wasn’t in it. It’s hard to feel motivated when the the most basic movements required in my style of dancing causes sharp pain. Still, I’m glad that at least my sense of basic dedication (and the strong influence of habit) to dance, stretch, and exercise kept me going.

The difference in my experience after regaining my inner spirit for dance was palpable. When rehearsing, I felt my face break into smiles so natural and fitting for each moment of the dance. There was nothing premeditated or forced. I knew then, that the dance had finally begun to become a part of me, and that I was becoming the dance. 

Let’s just say I also knew I was doing something right when my teacher said at the end of my rehearsal one day, “It’s better. It’s improving.” She does not pay compliments when she doesn’t mean it, so even though she’d delivered the message rather tersely I was thrilled. And most important, it had felt *good* dancing the piece.

Just about to head backstage!

I had my usual nerves backstage, but once I was out there a strange sense of calm overtook me. It was just me and the stage again, the bright lights flooding me from the wings and above me, and the darkness out in the audience. In the back of my mind I worried that I wouldn’t be able to find center mark or the front of the stage after my series of turns, or that my slow front walkover would go wrong. But when I got to those parts, I felt no fear. My body knew what to do.

And when it was over, I lay awake at night going over my performance over and over again as I am wont to do. While I was tired and would have gladly welcomed more sleep, I knew what kept me up. I was excited. I couldn't wait to get back into the studio and work. Every chance, every moment I get to dance, is precious to me. My joy in rediscovering this knows no bounds.

Flesh and Blood

It seems completely obvious for a dancer to focus on movement, but I'm continually amazed by how much more I could be doing.  In fact, after today's rehearsal of an Uighur dance, I began to realize how much I wasn't doing.

To approximate what my coach, a distinguished teacher from the Beijing Dance Academy, told me in Chinese:

"Without ebb and flow, there is no contrast.  You merely have motion.  But when you focus on the origin of the movement and you know when to be soft and when to be hard, then!  Then, it becomes dance."

Another way she drove it home, after stopping me for the umpteenth time after a break in a series of turns:

"You've got the framework, but it's just the skeleton.  Breathe!  When you allow your body to fully live the movement, you build the flesh and blood.  That's what gives life to dance."

As she spoke, her eyes softened as her entire body melted into a mesmerizing fluidity of girlish coquetry.  She perfectly embodied the Uighur maiden, blushing secretly to herself at the mere thought of love.

During moments like this, I am unable to tear my eyes off of her.  How do I become that movement, so full of life?  I'm frustrated at my inability to sublimate the movement and simultaneously filled with complete adoration for my coach.  Her body, her eyes, every little thing about her, is completely captivating.

Then the moment is broken as her eyes harden and train upon me.  She's back in coach mode.  "You got that?"

Quickly I nod, not quite recovered, and try again.  And again, and again.  We run the dance several more times, and by the end I'm so far gone I barely hold the last pose, a snap backbend.  My coach is a tough trainer, but she takes pity on me at the end of the rehearsal.

"When you know the steps better, you'll get there," she said, her gaze softer.  You've already improved.  Be unafraid, let your body live the movement."  In a split second, her eyes sharpen.  "And for heaven's sake, let your neck go!"

"Yes, Teacher," I said, smiling, and do what I do at the end of every class: She dismisses me, and I bow with a hearty "Thank you, Teacher!" This formality is a given in China, and while my coach does not enforce it much here in the States I am careful to always show my respect.  Her proud, lifted chin does not quite hide her satisfied smile of approval.

Back home, I move in front of the mirror or in the light reflected off a window in the evenings, trying to find, and then grow, the movements within my body.  Instead of wearing them like an ill-fitting outfit, I must learn to activate them seamlessly as I tap into the appropriate state of being. Only then will I become the flesh and blood that is my dance.

Practicing to Make It Count

Countless hours practicing running pinwheel turns => showtime!

You know the feeling: that sinking sensation that, despite all the time you've put into working on getting better at something, you're nowhere near where you need to be.  Maybe you're still unable to execute a clean series of brisés volés to the left (me!); maybe you've been slaving away on fouette turns and are nowhere near the emblematic 32 in a row every ballerina aspires to.

Not Making Progress?  How Are You Practicing?
"I've done ballet for three years and I'm still no good!" is a cry of dismay I often hear from my mother, an adult beginner.  "But, Mamee," I explain patiently, "you're following very well but you haven't yet learned the fundamentals."  Dancers know that in order to gain technical prowess it is absolutely essential to understand how to use one's muscles, how to use one's body, the floor, and gravity to do what is required to make the required movements possible, much less make them beautiful. You must learn and internalize the basics. Unfortunately, my mother doesn't yet grasp this concept, and continues doing the movements in the same way she's always done them.

The point is, if you keep doing the same thing that isn't working over and over again, you're probably not going to see much improvement, if any.  My mother has indeed taken many ballet classes, sometimes going as much as five times a week.  The issue isn't frequency.  The issue is the nature of the practicing she does.

My mother takes open ballet classes, meaning she goes through a standard 1.5 hour technique class for adults with varying levels of experience.  The instructor cannot reasonably be asked to consistently teach the fundamentals that children learn as beginners to build a solid foundation for advancement.  Busy adults generally don't want to give up their hard-earned money for one whole month of concentrated work on how to stand properly in first position, or how to do a tendu in the correct manner. (1) In glossing over these essential fundamentals, however, adult beginning students like my mother find it very difficult to improve.

The Art of Deliberate Practice
This brings me to what Anders Ericsson, a professor of psychology at Florida State University, calls "deliberate practice": practice with the objective of improving your performance. (2) According to Ericsson:

"Deliberate practice is about changing your performance, setting new goals and straining yourself to reach a bit higher each time."

Get Feedback
This means that you have to understand what you need to do to improve.  You need to put yourself out there and ask for feedback.  Don't be afraid of losing face - you want to hear the good, the bad, and the ugly.  Remember - this is for you!  If you don't want to know what you don't want to hear about how you're doing, ask yourself: do you really want to improve?  Keep your eyes on the prize: you and eventual mastery!

Repeat Your Strategic Practice Routine
Once you know what you need to do to get better, do it. Over and over and over again.  In Chinese opera, it is said that one small hand gesture is the product of 10 years of concentrated labor.

Classically trained dancers are no stranger to this.  Even if you're an international superstar who has received 10 minutes of standing ovation at a major opera house the night before, you're back at the studio the next morning working on that step that didn't go quite perfectly.  It's the same formula on the road to mastering whatever it is you want to do.

Don't Be Afraid to Ask for Help!
Put that pride away.  My mother still refuses to sign up for private ballet classes because she's afraid the instructor will think she's stupid if she doesn't pick things up right away.  If you are having trouble understanding how something works or how to do it, ask!  Otherwise, you'll always be stuck at the same place.  As my piano teacher says, "If you were perfect, you wouldn't be here, would you?"

Work On the Areas You're Having Trouble With
My success rate in executing clean turns to the right when I dance is low compared to my left turns. I can lift my left leg higher and more easily than my right leg.  Instead of working twice as much on turns to the right, or stretching to increase flexibility in my right leg, I could just do what takes less effort and look pretty good doing it.  This is a real pitfall.  What if a choreographer comes in and asks everyone to execute a series of turns to the right?  I'm not going to get cast in that piece!

That said, it can be advantageous to focus on one's strengths, and I admit I do like being cast in strong, athletic, or roles that require more acting, as these come more naturally to me and I feel in my element.  In general, if you really are not a particular type of dancer (e.g. adagio, brio, etc.), it may not be worth it to always try to go against your natural grain.

But when it comes to mastering something that you really want to do, you do have to focus on the problem areas - at least to the point of gaining enough proficiency towards overall progress.

It's Not Going to Be Easy, But You're Worth It!
As motivational expert Daniel Pink points out in his wonderful book Drive, "Prepare for the process to be mentally and physically exhausting."

If it was going to be easy, do you think it would be as interesting or worth doing?  Still, it's tough to make that commitment. I always dread working on running pinwheel turns in Chinese dance, but it's a staple technique and to get this down is to be able to dance many, many pieces.  Plus, I remind myself that I have come a long way since the days I first started learning it - I usually ended up either on the floor, or wanting to throw up (or both)!

But is it worth it?  Oh, yes. The free-flying sensation of pure movement that is owned by my body is worth every bit of repetition, N x 100 (or 1000, as it were).  As long as it's deliberate practice, that is.

So don't give up! If you know you want to improve and it really means something to you, practice with these fundamentals in mind:

• Approach practice with the singular goal of improving your performance
• Seek feedback - the good, the bad, the ugly
• Work especially on areas that are holding you back from making progress
• Do it over and over and over again

So if you want it badly enough, do yourself a huge favor and commit to improvement. Figure out what you want, and then find ways to do it really well.  You won't see it in 3 days, but by the 3000th day, you bet there will be a marked difference.  Onward, and upward!


(1) Excellent article on Dance Advantage on why the simple tendu one of the most important building blocks of classical dance

(2) For more on Professor Ericsson and the concept of deliberate practice, see this Forbes article

Waters of Tibet

My first performance of a Tibetan dance is now under my belt!  After having worked tirelessly on keeping my upper body held and yet my knees very loose - such a difficult combination for a classically trained dancer! - I feel that I've finally had a taste of this unique and beautiful style.  I have yet a long way to go to get anywhere near fluent in it, as most dancers who take ballet class regularly know well, it's a real challenge to be relax the body and be "down" rather than tense and lift "up" on a strong beat.  

This dance was quite special for me, as through my research to prepare for the dance I was able to learn an intriguing aspect of Tibetan culture.  As you might have heard, water is scarce these days in the region, but the relationship Tibetans have with water has a quasi-religious quality.  The dance, whose title translates best to "Wellspring" (源), is a celebration of this wonderful element that gives us the gift of life.  And yet, it is to be revered with seriousness, given the destructive quality it can have when it overwhelms that to which it gave life.  

The piece's movements reflect this relationship with water: The opening is serious, almost dirgelike.  This soon progresses to frolicking and then gleeful splashing, finally giving way to serene contemplation.  

Not only have I begun to internalize a new style of movement, I am widening my cultural vocabulary.  I look forward to this every time I learn a new dance, even if it's in a style I have studied before.  And, I find it personally fitting that I dance a piece about the wonder of water, as "Ocean" (海) is my middle name in Chinese.  It's true that there are no oceans in Tibet, but the urbanity and yet mystical quality of water itself is worthy of reverence. 

The Challenge of Contrasts

It's fascinating (and sometimes frustrating!) to be working on classical ballet technique, and then to switch to something wildly different like the Tibetan dance I'm rehearsing for an upcoming show. Ballet is, as most dancers say, is 'up', referencing the pulled up, elongated muscles and posture, while Tibetan is 'down'.

Now, there are many different kinds of 'down'.  When I was in NYC studying latin jazz with Maria Torres, I learned to put my weight into my steps to get that deliberate, pert forward momentum that makes this dance style so alluring.  That's one kind of 'down'.  However, the torso is still very much held upright, making latin a kind of contrast unto itself.  

But Tibetan?  It's closer to what looks like a relaxed version of knee-bending seen in some styles of hip-hop, but with a fluid upper body and precisely placed arms and hands.  It's new to me, and I still haven't figured it out yet.  I'm still too 'up' and it makes me look awkward in a number of moves; the straight legs and trained upper body break the flow of the movement.  I still have a little bit of time to get it right before I go onstage.  I'd better keep practicing with the mirror and internalizing the Tibetan feeling - fast!

At the same time, I love the feeling of being pulled up all the time in technique class.  It's like my bread and butter (or, for my Asian side, rice and vegetables); very basic and yet oh-so-satisfying.  This morning in class, our instructor, Rika, told me to hold onto my rotation three times as much on my way up from plie.  It turns out that I've been letting it go ever so slightly, which results in my tush sticking out in a very un-balletic manner.  I sweat all through the barre, and by center all the muscles in my groin were especially tired.  It was an exhilarating feeling - I'm starting to get it, a little!  That's all I can ask for - progress, one bit at a time, in whatever style I'm working on.

What Hangs in the Balance

Happy Holidays!  The end of the year has snuck up on me, and I haven't been able to devote as much energy to dance simply because my reserves have been drained by the demands of my office job this quarter.  If this continues, my physical health (not to mention my sanity) is going to be at risk and I'll have to ask myself some tough questions.  They always loom in the back of my mind, but at some point I have to buckle down and think about who I am and what it is I want to be spending my energies on.

My dance life recently hasn't been non-existent, rather it's redeveloping.  I realize I go through phases in my choice of daily class.  I'll find myself wanting to feel all my muscles working properly and to go back to the basics; you'll find me at ballet class 70% of the week.  Then at some point I'll just want to move, no holds barred, focusing on endurance and strength.  I'll want to end the session with me, flat on my back on the floor, relishing the sweatiness!  Mop me off the floor at the Chinese dance studio.

I'm somewhere in between at the moment, trying to recover from work. I'm simply happy to be dancing at all.

This video is of the Yi ethnic dance "Mo She Ge" that I'd dubbed "Yi Feisty Girl" in an earlier post.  It reminds me of why I keep pushing myself; no matter how tired I am from work, I make sure I do something every day to stay in touch with my body and to get myself to class (or to give myself class if I have to).  It's to keep on pushing the boundaries of what my body can do, not just in terms of strength, but in internalizing new styles of movement.

The distinctive, playful movements of this Yunnan province dance are meant to look natural and at ease, but in reality learning this was completely unnatural for me!  This sounds strange, but it felt akin to putting on the most ill-fitting suit and shoes, and being asked to tap dance while giving a speech.  Obviously this wasn't specifically the case, but you get the idea: I had no clue as to even which muscles I should use to initiate the movements.  Awkward.  I know it's bad when my normally intense teacher laughs after I try something!  In the end, I somehow pulled this off between business trips to Beijing and the results were at least fun and colorful.

The point is, this reminds me that dance is a real part of me.  When I'm a stressed zombie after another 15 hour day at the office and have no room left in my brain, I need to remember who I am.  I am not just a worker bee.  I dance.  Perhaps it's time to reevaluate the (lack of) balance in my life.

Here's looking forward to a year ahead of music, movement, growth, and joy!  

The Nutcracker in China: Not Yet Home

Earlier this year I attended the National Ballet of China's production of The Nutcracker at the National Theater in Beijing, timed to coincide with the Lunar New Year. As Nutcracker season is once again in full swing, I'd like to share a review I wrote after seeing this Chinese attempt to appropriate one of the most enduring European classical ballets.  I hope you find this cultural exploration thought-provoking!  (Photos below are courtesy of Xinhua.)

In China, popular ballets have been based on themes close to home, such as the military-themed The Red Detachment of Women, featuring uniform-clad, gun-toting women in pointe shoes, or on national literary treasures and legends, as in Raise the Red Lantern and The White Haired Girl. It was, therefore, a leap of faith for The National Ballet of China to stage a locally flavored version of that most cherished western holiday classic: The Nutcracker.

Traditional, Western ballets are respected in China but garner comparatively little enthusiasm; traditional Chinese performing arts tend to stress overt acrobatic flourishes, which are amply supplied by traditional and folk dance ensembles.  

This is not to say that there are not balletomanes in China;  the presence of several fine companies in the country suggests otherwise. But for the average theatre-goer, it would take something extra to bring ballet closer to home. It’s quite fitting that Feng Ying, artistic director of The National Ballet of China, chose the ballet that arguably exposes more new audiences to the art form in the west to attempt to make history in China.

This is the second iteration of the production that premiered in 2001. Perhaps it was in a nod to the ballet's origins that the premiere was held in December, despite the fact that most Chinese do not celebrate Christmas. It returned in late February this year to coincide with the end of the Lunar New Year festivities.

In this Chinese adaptation the setting is the Lunar New Year, and Yuan Yuan and her brother celebrate with friends in their hutong, traditional neighborhoods formed by courtyard residences that are fast disappearing from modern Beijing. The music that traditionally announces the presence of Drosselmeyer, the eccentric toymaker, heralds a European antiquities dealer as the guest of Yuan Yuan's family.  

What ensues is a scene that any local could identify with: toasts raised with tea cups at the dinner table. While this is a fitting mirror to the activities that occur in the European Stahlbaum family during Christmas, it was unfortunate that the choreography did not make interplay with the beautiful score.  Granted, the first act tends to consist mostly of pantomime in any version, but Tchaikovsky provides coy hesitations and lush climaxes that beg for movement; most of these were not realized by the choreography.

The Nutcracker, bestowed upon Yuan Yuan by the European visitor, comes to life and joins forces with tigers to defeat the Nian, a Chinese mythological monster. Yuan Yuan then morphs into a beautiful crane fairy, danced with a frail grace by Zhang Jiang. Her attentive cavalier, Sheng Shidong, accompanies her to the land of the cranes. Where snowflakes would have floated across the stage, a coterie of sylph-like cranes welcome the couple to their enchanted world.  

Yuan Yuan and her cavalier find themselves in the Porcelain Kingdom, where they are received by a parade of items come to life that any Chinese household would be familiar with: fans, silk, toffee hawthorns, kites and peg tops, the last of which featured a man turning endlessly en pointe. "This is a dream that only a Chinese girl could have," said Feng Ying, artistic director.

Arguably the most entertaining of all, judging from audience reaction, was the 'Mother Ginger' segment. Instead of Mother Ginger, however, came a giant golden pig of prosperity whose doors opened to spill forth dancing golden ingots. Children are an integral part of any Nutcracker production; they appeared in this one piece and it proved most charming.

The final pas de deux was phrased beautifully. Zhang’s wrists beckoned softly and her gaze never failed to drift back to her cavalier as she was partnered tenderly by Sheng, who seemed genuinely entranced by her.

Despite the entertainment and beauty, I was left with a nagging feeling of incompleteness. This was not entirely due to the fact that the Sugar Plum variation was noticeably absent. I found myself longing for choreography that ascends on the wings of Tchaikovsky’s emotive music. Music and dance are inextricably linked in any ballet and this production felt akin to a lovely veneer of colour and movement. I soon realized it was because the ballet did not feel like a finished piece, culturally - it had not yet reached a sense of home.

As the curtain fell on the lavish production, the stage darkened with a simulation of firecrackers exploding and I wondered at what lies at the cultural heart of a tradition. Is it too much of a challenge to attempt appropriation of a foreign work with no more than a local overlay?

I watched audience members' reactions to the ballet with interest; people identified, aloud, each divertissement's representation as it appeared onstage - the kite, the fan. These adaptations resonated with the audience at their finest and were recognizable at the very least.

It would be gratifying to see this holiday classic become a new tradition for ballet in China, although I wonder whether it will live to see that day. The music is undeniably European, and one senses a fundamental disconnect. It's almost as if a story from a different time and place had reluctantly agreed to allow itself to be superimposed upon another. Still, it is an admirable and joyful work with some breathtaking moments. This balletomane certainly looks forward to witnessing an evolution of this effort, to see whether a traditional ballet can transcend the distance of culture and provenance to bring forth home.

Spotlight on Uighur Dance

On a very chilly November evening not so long ago, I had the good fortune to speak with Yu Mi Ti (玉米提), arguably the top male Uighur dancer in China, after a stunning performance at the National Theatre.  I'd first discovered him after watching countless solo and group performances in the China Central Television (CCTV) National Dance Competition from 2005 (I was behind on the times; I'd bought the multi-disc collection on a business trip to Beijing).

I was riveted.  Until that moment, I'd been half-heartedly watching, sewing ballet slippers or reading. China's multitudes afford talent scouts the ability to pick the best of the best for their training academies, and every single dancer was technically wonderful.  However, nothing truly caught my attention until a curly-haired youth named Yu Mi Ti burst onto the stage, cradling a Central Asian dombura lute in his arms and exuding boundless ardency.  He did not merely dance; onstage was a youth in love and I could see into his heart, a heart brimming with tenderness and joie de vivre.

In person, Yu Mi Ti is serious and soft-spoken; the occasional swell of banked passion behind his voice when he speaks of his people and of his love of dance hint at the rapturous joy he exudes onstage.  I wished to understand his motivations, to steal a glimpse of the person behind the dancer.

To learn more about this extraordinary artist, please take a look at the profile I wrote about him (also below).  I hope to circulate this to greater audiences so that dance enthusiasts everywhere will learn of Yu Mi Ti and the fascinating Uighur culture.  If you know of anyone who may be interested, please share this blogpost and article with them.

Yu Mi Ti - Bringing Uighur Dance to the Forefront

Susan R. Lin


Sky-high extensions and acrobatic feats are no rarity in the world of Chinese dance. In a culture that looks deeply into its own history even as it plows forward into modernity,  dance in China honors many of the 55 ethnic styles while incorporating other nationally beloved art forms: martial arts and acrobatics. In the many professional academies countless dancers train with military-like discipline to achieve extraordinary flexibility and strength. Yet through it all, one dancer has captured the nation with not only impeccable technique, but with his infectious charm and rapturous stage presence. 

His name is Yu Mi Ti, and he hails from Urumqi, the capital of the Xinjiang Autonomous Region in western China. This was long considered the wild west that merchants of the Silk Road would brave as they traveled west to Central Asia to trade their wares. The native people of Xinjiang are the Uighurs, a Turkic people whose language is written in Arabic.  Yu Mi Ti is a Mandarin transliteration of the first name ‘Umut’, in the Uighur language.  

Photo Courtesy Yu Mi Ti

Unlike the fans and ribbons often associated with Chinese dance, Uighur dance is characterized by loose tunics and boots embroidered with intricate designs seen in Islamic art, hands and heads held proudly aloft not unlike that of the Hungarian Czardas, and jumps and whirls often seen in Russian and Georgian folk traditions. This heady mix of emotion and energy is accompanied to music drawn from Persian, Indian, and Chinese roots.

Despite the fact that Uighur dance is regularly depicted on mainland Chinese media, an Uighur dancer had never won top honors at a national competition in the modern history of Chinese dance until Yu Mi Ti.

At 25, Yu Mi Ti is a hero of the Uighur community, an artistic and cultural ambassador of his people. In 2005, he took the top prize at the China Central Television (CCTV) National Dance Competition and became the first ethnic Uighur to win a country-wide dance competition.  His star has only risen since then, having captured gold in the prestigious Peach and Plum Cup competition in 2006 and again at the CCTV competition in 2009, with other top accolades in between.

One look at Yu Mi Ti shatters all preconceived notions of the very concept of what one normally considers Chinese: dark brown curls crown his head, his pale skin and aquiline profile enhance a naturally regal mien. His eyes are almost unfathomably large and deep-set. In other words, he looks strikingly different: most Chinese have black, straight hair, softer profiles and almond-shaped eyes. Perhaps it’s his unaffected good looks, but even in the rising international metropolis of Beijing he elicits unabashed stares wherever he goes.

Photo: CCTV 2005, Yu Mi Ti in Beautiful Rose

While Yu Mi Ti has impeccable technique - his explosive split jumps and trademark spinning knee jumps are eye-popping - it’s almost secondary: he brings down the house with one, smoldering glance. When he dances, you don’t see steps; he envelops the audience in energy and surging emotion imbued with a youthful haughtiness that is offset by disarming innocence. He tells a story with his body and his eyes, and for those moments he is onstage, you cannot tear your eyes away.

Yu Mi Ti’s natural facility was evident at a young age; scouts from Beijing’s famous People’s Liberation Army Academy of Art’s dance division (in China, many performance disciplines are associated with the military) identified him when looking for promising talent in Urumqi. At age 12, he left his family to enter the rigorous dance program of the military academy. He told me, after a rousing performance at the famously egg-shaped National Theater, that he has no regrets coming to Beijing to start his new life.  Even though he’d seriously considered leaving dance due to the harsh lifestyle of the military academy and the comparatively meager pay of his professional career, “Everything I have ever worked for is beginning to blossom,” he explained.

When asked what he hopes to accomplish with his dancing, unlike many other dancers I’ve spoken to at prestigious performing companies in Beijing and Shanghai who simply said their lot in life was chosen for them, Yu Mi Ti answered without hesitation. “I want the world to know that we Uighurs exist ... I want to show them the beauty of our culture so that they may know us,” he stated with a quiet conviction. He already has plans to start an Uighur performing troupe that he hopes will tour internationally. 

Throughout our conversation he spoke with a serious, insightful intelligence beyond his youthful years.  This was coupled with a humility that showed an artist who is never satisfied with resting on his laurels. It was evident that he considered a great deal before expressing himself with words.

The honesty and humble strength of his dedication left a deep impression on me. He may have achieved a certain fame in China, but for the rest of the world, he has much work to do. 

Photo: CCTV 2010, Yu Mi Ti in Uighur Plate Dance

However, perhaps what is most important goes back to dance itself: the desire to entertain, to connect people via movement, to inspire. Yu Mi Ti recounted a story that he says gave him the resolve to keep dancing when he seriously doubted his path: A young girl wrote him a letter, describing how she had been about to end her troubled life by jumping off her apartment balcony when he appeared on the television. She could not take her eyes off his image, and after his dance ended, she decided not to go through with her plan. Yu Mi Ti’s joyful performance had given her the will to live. “‘Seeing you dance showed me that life can be worth living,’ she’d written to me, and is this not the greatest reward of all?” he said with quiet reverence.

Whether he continues to inspire countless others or is able to realize his dream of introducing Uighur culture to the world as an ambassador of joy, one looks forward to what Yu Mi Ti will bring.  For now,  the happiness and hope he has created with his dancing is a triumph unto itself.