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!  

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.

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.