RIPE WITH MEANING: THE PREGNANT BODY

IN CONTEMPORARY DANCE

by

Marney Debenham Schaumann

A thesis submitted to the faculty of

The University of Utah
in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of

Master of Fine Arts

Department of Modern Dance

The University of Utah

August 2010
Copyright  Marney Debenham Schaumann 2010

All Rights Reserved

 The University of Utah Graduate School

STATEMENT OF THESIS APPROVAL

The thesis of Marney Debenham Schaumann

has been approved by the following supervisory committee members:

Pamela Geber , Chair March 1,2010

bate Approved

Satu Hummasti , Member March 1,2010

Date Approved

Eric Handman , Member March 1,2010

Date Approved

and by W hite Chair of

__________
lll=l a'-:..:.
::..:: Do.:: :: ..: .::.: =----
_________
'

the Department of Modern Dance

and by Charles A. Wight, Dean of The Graduate School.

 ABSTRACT

During the last thirty years research about dance and dancing bodies had provided

a fertile ground for discussion and investigation. Significant presentations have been

made about the subject, innumerable articles have been written and a multitude of books

have been published that address the dancing body as viewed from the perspectives of

identity, race, power, politics, social status, gender, sexuality, and so on. One relatively

unaddressed area in this ever-expanding discussion are perceptions, attitudes and biases

that are held about dancing pregnant bodies, particularly the implications of these bodies

in the studio and on stage. As a unique, altered body, the dancing body has been silent in

the wings, marginalized, perhaps even 'put away'. Until it is aesthetically/physically

regarded as being ready to be brought into sight it will remain an elusive and enigmatic

moving form.

Through interviews, this thesis investigates how the pregnant dancing body is

understood and experienced in the studio, on stage, in the workplace, and culturally, by

women who have "been there." To context their responses this thesis will address, at a

rudimentary level, the pregnant body from a historical perspective and use literature from

the field of gender studies to provide a contemporary understanding of issues that arise

when a woman who dances becomes pregnant.

 Through research, analysis, a creative project, interviews with dancers who have

been pregnant and continue to dance, and through personal reflection (I gave birth to a

son during the writing of this thesis) I assert that a pregnant dancing body is a disruptive,

challenging, yet able dancing body with its own unique story. It is ultimately through the

women themselves, whose words and voices add the most relevant insights into the

growing body of literature in the disciplines of dance and gender studies that we engage

with a field of inquiry in such a personal yet universal way.

iv
 TABLE OF CONTENTS

ABSTRACT....................................................................................................................... iii

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS .............................................................................................. vii

INTRODUCTION ...............................................................................................................1

Chapters

1 THE FEMALE BODY ..................................................................................................2

Body Cultures ................................................................................................................2

A Body that Stimulates Myths and Fears ......................................................................5
Othered: The Unstable Womb .......................................................................................6
Methods of Control ......................................................................................................11

2 DANCING BODIES: BODIES SPEAK .....................................................................18

Bodies that Matter ........................................................................................................19

Two Bodies: Contained and in Control .......................................................................20
Bodies for Sale: Beautiful Bodies ................................................................................22

3 PREGNANT WITH MEANING: BODIES THAT MATTER ...................................28

Looking Is Not Simple: Multiple Interpretations of the Pregnant Body .....................28

The Pregnant Body: Bodies that Matter.......................................................................30
The Body Back ............................................................................................................34
Disconnect: Being Is Not Simple.................................................................................38

4 THE DANCING PREGNANT BODY: A DISRUPTIVE BODY ..............................40

A Challenging Body ....................................................................................................41

Public/Private ...............................................................................................................52
Childcare: The Elephant in the Room ..........................................................................77
‘Ripe:’ Birthing a Creative Endeavor ..........................................................................80
OTHER WORKS ...............................................................................................................93
CONCLUSION ..................................................................................................................95
EPILOGUE ........................................................................................................................99
REFERENCE LIST .........................................................................................................104

vi
 ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I thank my husband Clarke for supporting me in this journey and believing in me

even when I didn’t believe in myself. I thank my parents, Professors Pat and Kathie

Debenham, for encouraging me to persevere over the years, and for seeing the potential

in my work long before it came to complete fruition. I thank my thesis committee for

working with me in spite of time away from school. I thank my interview participants for

sharing their stories. I thank Liz Harris, Christine Settles, Sandy Otting, Laura Gourley,

Jason Wernli, Lisa Smith, and countless others who volunteered to baby-sit so that I

could finish writing. And lastly, I thank my wonderfully adorable Oliver, without whom

I would not have found the desire and inspiration to begin again and to finish birthing

what I started long ago.

 INTRODUCTION

Swelling; burgeoning; round; protruding. When you hear these words what body

comes to mind? Would you be surprised that I am describing a dancing body? Words

more often associated with dancing bodies might be thin or muscular. This is the

challenge of the pregnant dancing form: it does not conform to traditional expectations of

dancing bodies, and yet it is capable of being a dancing body.

The pregnant body is a peculiar body. It is a common body, a natural part of life,

a body to be over looked. It is also a startling body, a unique occurrence, a body to be

looked over and scrutinized. It is exactly this paradox that draws me to question this

body in the field of dance. If this body is so ambiguous, so loaded and so neutral in

society at large, what is this body in the world of contemporary dance?

While not often seen in concert dance, the pregnant body forces viewers to

confront preconceived ideas about what dancing bodies should look like, move like, and

be. On a deeper level, the pregnant dancing body asks us to confront what a dancing

woman should be. To investigate this complex life event, I interviewed thirty women

with experience in both dance performance and academia. Through their stories and my

own personal experience I hope to broaden the scope of the female experience in the field

of modern dance and open a dialogue about one of life’s truly transformative experiences.
 CHAPTER 1

THE FEMALE BODY

Body Cultures

In the past three decades the body, in all of its symbols, representations and

meanings, has become a popular topic in dance, sociology and philosophy (among other

disciplines). Through various investigations researchers seek to analyze what the body

can mean and what certain bodies signify in particular and why. Just as people live in

varied cultures around the world, I posit that as individuals we live in various body

cultures, as well, and more often than not we live simultaneously within multiple body

cultures. Through an on going series of identifications and dis-identifications, body

images are created (Weiss 1999). As a woman, a dancer, a member of the Church of

Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and as a mother, I see my body differently as a result of

each of these subcultures in which I live.

Gail Weiss argues our bodies and how we make sense of them through our body

image “are not discrete, but form a series of overlapping identities” (Weiss 1). Our body

images are not cohesive, nor do they operate in a uniform way in our everyday existence.

She argues that a “multiplicity of body images” are “copresent” in each individual and

are “constructed through corporeal exchanges within and outside of specific bodies”

(Weiss 2). I identify strongly with this statement. As a dancer I see my body through my

dancer eyes; I judge my body against what I feel is expected of dancing bodies.
 3

Sometimes I feel my body is in “compliance,” and other times I feel it is in

“defiance.” Being naturally thin sometimes I feel my body fits the dancer “look,” but on

the same hand I often find my body lacking in strength and flexibility according to my

definition of what a dancer’s body “should” be.

As a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints I see my female

body very differently; the family unit is central to the doctrines of my faith and I have a

strong personal desire to have multiple children. In this body culture, women spend a

great deal of their adult life pregnant and mothering. The expectation that a woman

would be pregnant, and pregnant fairly regularly (as Latter Day Saints tend to have larger

families) is a contrasting body culture to my dancing body culture in which I must

negotiate my selfhood and womanhood.

I must admit that I feel tension between these two body cultures in which I live. I

find it a constant struggle, not necessarily to maintain a certain body because of these

body cultures, but because of the meanings attached to those bodies. During the process

of writing this thesis I have had two miscarriages and one successful pregnancy and birth.

Aside from the emotional toll such experiences cause, they have put me in an interesting

position in which to view my body. During the early weeks of pregnancy I projected

how I would negotiate my body “transgressing” dancerly expectations. Because of the

dance body culture in which I live, I found myself curious, maybe even apprehensive as

to how I would feel about my altered state; would I be as accepting of these bodily

changes as I theorize that people should be? I was also curious as to faculty member and

student reactions, not just whether they would be disturbed by my rounded dancing form,

but of possible judgment about my decision to have a child at this time in my life.
 4

Having lost two pregnancies early in the first trimester I had a long time to sit

with these questions. At points along the way I felt cheated. I was so excited the first time

I found out I was pregnant because I would be “living” my research; I would know what

it felt like to dance in a body that up to that point I could only imagine. After having

thought about and theorized about the dancing pregnant body for so long I was

disappointed not to have the opportunity to speak about the subject from a personal place.

At times I felt like my body was defective, or unwomanly; that it did not know how to do

its “job” properly. I have even viewed my womb with suspicion—like a medieval womb,

my womb was unstable, uncontrollable, unknown. Sometimes I felt I was living up to

neither of my personal body culture expectations; if I lived up to one I transgressed the

other.

Female dancers apply many different images to themselves: technician,

performer, choreographer, and teacher, to name a few. Each of these has attendant body

images that usually work in tandem with each other. Interviewee Shirley Ririe said, “My

body is affected by how I look in a leotard… and what the image of a dancer is. I wanted

to be looked at as a dancer” [emphasis added]. I find this interesting; she identifies with

the external construct of what a dancer should look like, and in a way has been accepting

of her body because it has been able to comply with the dancer image.

But when a dancer becomes pregnant, the resulting body images/cultures might

not work in tandem, and may even collide. For a dancing woman these roles create a

new context within which to negotiate images of what a dancer should be and look like.

Based on the sociality of pregnancy and motherhood in our culture at large, and within

the dance culture specifically, these new images can be difficult to incorporate. I suggest
 5

that the social representations of pregnancy available to women do not do justice to the

multiplicity of women’s lived experiences. I also note that pregnancy has been largely

missing from dialogue in dance studies and dance creation.

Through the process of identification, what we think we are (i.e., I am a skinny

dancer. I have amazing extension..), and disidentification, what we think we are not (i.e.,

I am not a skinny dancer. I do not have great extension..), identity is created. Labels we

apply to ourselves are based on personal perception and may even be misidentifications if

based on skewed information. I feel labeling through identification and dis-identification

is key to understanding the pregnant body in contemporary dance. People regularly

categorize the bodies they see and their own bodies in relation to other bodies; the

pregnant body is such an aberration from a traditional dancing body that it has the

potential to be shocking. In order to understand how the pregnant body is aberrant it is

important to see how the female body, dancing bodies and pregnant bodies are situated

culturally.

A Body that Stimulates Myths and Fears

Feminist author Susan Bordo writes:

What, after all, is more personal than the life of the body? And for women,
associated with the body and largely confined to a life centered on the
body (both the beautification of one’s own body and the reproduction,
care, and maintenance of the bodies of others), culture’s grip on the body
is a constant, intimate fact of everyday life. (Bordo 1993, 17)

Women’s bodies have been the site and source of various stereotypes and

expectations throughout time. The female body in twenty-first century America is

 6

a mixture of historical and modern ideals. For all gradients, good or bad, women

and the body are intimately connected.

In my reading, research, and personal reflection, I have distilled two major lenses

in both historic and modern times placed upon the female body: othered and objectified.

According to Iris Marion Young women live a tension “between transcendence and

immanence, between subjectivity and being a mere object” (Young 1990, 262). The

manner in which the female body has been othered and objectified has shaped social

controls that dictate given domains or spheres of appropriateness for the female body.

Othered: The Unstable Womb

We live in a patriarchal society. Allan Johnson defines a patriarchal society as

one that is “…male-dominated, male-identified, and male-centered” (A. Johnson 1997,

5), one “in which men are in the foreground and women in the background, marginalized

as outsiders and exceptions to the rule” (A. Johnson 6). This has been especially true

historically. From a physiological perspective, women are different from men.

Difference often incites fear and mistrust, and fear creates a desire to dominate and

discriminate (as a means of controlling that which causes us fear).

Historically the female body, and what was known and thought of it, has been

mediated through a masculine perspective. For hundreds of years it was generally

accepted that the male and female body were biologically the same. This included the

genitals, the only difference being that a woman’s were on the inside and not the outside.

Women were considered inverted men.

Andreas Vesalius, anatomist of the 1550s, who is often referred to as the founder
 7

of modern human anatomy, and whose dissections helped to correct many ancient

misconceptions about the human body, even said, “woman is the inverse of man”

(Thompson 1999, 75). Ironically, because women are indeed not the inverse of a man and

yet were expected to be so, a cultural belief that women were “lesser, incomplete models

of men” (Thompson 89) was commonplace. Because “the male body was considered the

norm” and the female body had all the parts of the male, but were simply arranged in a

different and inferior pattern” (Duroche 1990 in Shilling 38), the female body and female

experience has been discounted.

From a contemporary perspective it seems absurd that physicians and anatomists

would hold such distorted views of the female anatomy. But the explanation is socio-

cultural: “the anatomical representation of male and female was dependent on the cultural

politics of representation and illusion” (Balsam 2003, 1167). This does not testify to

“blindness or inattention on the part of Renaissance anatomists, but rather to an

imperative to create images of male and female within the language— the only genital

language until the eighteenth century being male” (Balsam 1167).

Tina Chanter writes from a contemporary perspective that because it had already

“decided in advance that in order for women’s sex to exist, it must conform to

parameters” laid down by male sexuality (Chanter 1999, 363), and that “since no other

terms of judgment are available than those of masculine appearance, the female sex

cannot be, it does not exist. It is pure lack, negativity, absence—a black hole, a lost

continent, mysterious, foreign, other. It is an enigma, a riddle, impenetrable” (Chanter

363).
 8

René Descartes’ (1596-1650) “I think, therefore I am” continued the Western

philosophical tradition of a duality privileging the mind over the body. Female difference

was rooted in the body and it seems that based on that bodily difference, notions of

intellectual difference took hold. As a result, an inflated binary of man/mind and

woman/nature surfaced. Because of the dualistic paradigm, in which men were

associated with the mind, the brain, and the intellect, it was honestly believed that women

were somehow not capable of higher thinking; therefore they were relegated to their

difference, and thus highly-suspect. In The Descent of Man, Charles Darwin states the

“difference” between men and women is their intellectual capabilities:

The chief distinction in the intellectual powers of the two sexes is shown
by man attaining to a higher eminence, in whatever he takes up, than
woman can attain…We may also infer…that if men are capable of decided
eminence over women in many subjects, the average standard of mental
power in man must be above that of woman. (1981, 327)

Amazingly, Darwin and his contemporaries failed to realize that “women were first

prevented from achieving eminence, and then described as intellectually deficient for

their ‘failure’: classic examples of Catch-22 and blaming the victim” (Synnott 1993, 53).

Men were given the opportunity for education and social and political eminence. Women

were relegated to the home and excluded from education and as a result, the female

embodied experience was historically absent from discourse. It was not until feminist

writers of the twentieth-century deconstructed female embodiment and the historically

silenced female voice that the female experience began to surface.

Women have been defined by and bound to their procreative powers. Author

Joan Jacobs Brumberg calls this, “ovarian determinism” (Jacobs Brumberg 1997, 7).

From antiquity through the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, the womb was maligned
 9

as the source of many maladies and aliments; some even “proposed that the uterus was a

‘sewer’—a site of noxious poisons that caused diseases” (Findlen and Bence n.p.). The

uterus was especially blamed for nervous breakdowns and hysteria, which according to

many doctors was something every woman experienced. In effect, women and the womb

were suspect because, “No equivalent male organ could be found that affected the body

so dramatically” (Findlen and Bence n.p.). While both men and women have procreative

powers, and both are essential to create life, the woman has the ability to sustain and

house life. Unlike so many roles of power in social institutions such as government or

religion, men cannot commandeer this unique power themselves so they have created

societies based around marginalizing women. Johnson argues that patriarchy revolves

around the interplay between control and fear and the fear of not being in control. He

writes that “under patriarchy, control is both the source of and the only solution offered

for… fear” (A. Johnson 54-54).

The women’s movement of the 1960s and 70s brought about massive social

change and advancements for the status of women in Western society. But as Johnson

critically suggests, the woman’s movement actually stalled, failing to truly challenge the

social structures that have allowed for discriminatory treatment by making it “easier to

allow women to assimilate into a patriarchal society then to question society itself” (A.

Johnson 13). Although scientific and social understanding of women’s bodies and

menstrual function has progressed beyond limited Victorian mentalities, other modes of

social control have replaced them. Cultural anthropologist Robbie Davis-Floyd writes

about one current form of social control called “the technocratic body.” In her article

“The Technocratic Body: American Childbirth as Cultural Expression,” Davis-Floyd

 10

argues that a “technocratic society” destroys a natural process and then rebuilds it as a

cultural process due to its super valuation of science and technology over nature (Davis-

Floyd 1994). Her argument is that because the male body “is more machine-like--

straighter-lined, more consistent and predictable, less subject to the vagaries of nature,” it

is “less likely to break down;” thus, the male body becomes “the standard for the properly

functioning body-machine” (Davis-Floyd 8 – 14). In short, under the technocratic model,

the female body is viewed as an abnormal, unpredictable, and inherently defective

machine. During pregnancy and birth, the unusual demands placed on the female body-

machine render it constantly at risk of serious malfunction or total breakdown. In

essence this potential invokes an existential threat. Its instability reminds us that all

bodies are inherently unstable, that loss and death are inevitable, that we are vulnerable,

that there is something that cannot be controlled. Through this complicated physiological

and psychological experience we are sensitized to our mortality. As such the pregnant

form and experience can inspire anxiety.

This theory gives essentially medieval ideas about the female body substance

because they are now grounded in science, not just superstition. The technocratic body is

one of the core ideas beneath why the pregnant body can still evoke such discomfort.

This bias is so ingrained in Western culture that it is difficult to recognize how it shapes

our most fundamental thinking about the female body, and more particularly the pregnant

body.

Thus, social perceptions of the female form do not stem from one attribute, it is

not just the uterus, not just the procreative power, not just its physiological difference

from man; but it does stem from its nonstatic ‘plasticity’ (Balsam 1171) both in physical
 11

form and in social meaning. The female body has been and will continue to be suspect on

some level because it is complex, precarious, and dynamic.

Methods of Control

Objectification

While archaic ideas about female biology no longer have social eminence, new

and equally disturbing stereotypes encompass the female body in society. The most

powerful and prevalent discourses surrounding women tend to be those that construct a

body culture based on external appearances, ones with highly specific ideals of beauty.

Over time, specific ideals have changed, but the emphasis on specific parts of the body

looking certain ways is ever-present. As Bordo says, when “viewed historically, the

discipline and normalization of the female body… has to be acknowledged as an

amazingly durable and flexible strategy of social control” (Bordo 1993, 166).

The “ideal” female body has been in a constant state of flux for over two

centuries. The ideal Victorian body type was plump and fleshy while corsets helped

obtain the social standard for women to achieve shape ideals: a tiny waist and

exaggerated hips. Around the turn of the century, slenderness began to become more

fashionable and women took an interest in athletics and the science of calorie counting.

By the 1920s, the Victorian hourglass figure had given way to the washboard-thin look of

the flapper. Thinness became a sign of wealth and the introduction of the bathroom scale

allowed women to monitor their weight more frequently.

As fashions changed to feature the body in more revealing clothing the size and

shape of bodies became more important. As a result, in the ensuing decades dieting
 12

became normalized and socially supported, even to the point to be called a “normative

obsession” (Jacobs Brumberg 1997, 122). By the 1940s and ’50s the look began to soften

somewhat as a fuller bust and slender waist returned. Women began wearing girdles and

push-bras as the voluptuous and buxom bodies of actresses like Marilyn Monroe and

Jayne Mansfield epitomized the sensational ideal.

In the mid 1960s “Twiggy, ” known for her stick-thin limbs and boyish look, and

weighing in at a mere ninety-five pounds, became the first supermodel. Between the

1970s and 1990s, the content of popular women’s magazines had an increased emphasis

on weight loss and body shape. Clothing styles became more form fitting and the

miniskirt craze emphasized the need for thin legs. By the 1980s, the beauty ideal

remained thin but began to require a more toned look. It was no longer enough to diet to

attain an ideal body; one now needed to exercise as well. With the exercise craze of the

1980s, the idea became highly prevalent that bodies are perfectible. In the 1990s, whether

a buxom beauty or not, thin was definitely “in.” To put it in perspective, in 1975 top

models and beauty queens such as Miss America weighed only 8% less than the average

woman; by the 1990s they weighed 23% less (Gimlin 2002, 5). Slenderness has been

over-determined as the ideal female measure of attractiveness.

Twenty-first century expectations for the female ideal are certainly still thin,

sculpted and toned. Today’s ideal bodies are almost super human in their image of

perfection with technologies such as photoshopping and airbrushing amplifying their

appearance of perfection. The literal corsets of Victorian women have become highly

complex figurative corsets in the Western world.

 13

Media Culture: Normalization/Commodification

Modern media images of the body function like the traditional icons of the
church. In other words, people read themselves and their place in the world
through the pictures. Modern media trades in the icons of modern, secular,
culture. Media can both reflect and shape culture. (Pronger 2001, np)

Being female in a twenty-first century media-oriented environment means wading

through a media culture with very narrowly defined ideals. Generally speaking, the

female ideal shown in the media is tall, thin, and sculpted; she has full breasts and lips, a

taut stomach, and not a hint of cellulite or bulge in sight. The female ideal shown in the

media is not only counter-indicative of the average woman but also nearly impossible to

attain without lucky genes, severe diet restriction, intensive exercise, and/or plastic

surgery.1 In addition, advertisers frequently airbrush or Photoshop photographs,

displaying a ‘reality’ that does not actually exist.2

John Berger writes that “publicity is not merely an assembly of competing

messages: it is a language in itself” (Berger 1972, 131). This language speaks to us what

is desirable and acceptable. The sheer volume of celebrities and models parading super-

bodies on magazine covers and in advertising implies something normal about the way

1
Currently there is a “you can do it too” mentality about beauty; as Bordo writes, “Popular culture does not
apply any brakes to these fantasies of rearrangement and self-transformation. Rather, we are constantly told
that we can “choose” our own bodies. ‘The proper diet, the right amount of exercise and you can have,
pretty much, any body you desire,’ claims Evian” (Bordo 1991, 109). Bordo says, and I would agree, that
this rhetoric of “choice and self-determination and the breezy analogies comparing cosmetic surgery to
fashion accessorizing” is deeply mystifying because “they efface, not only the inequalities of privilege,
money, and time that prohibit most people from indulging in these practices, but the desperation that
characterizes the lives of those who do. (Bordo 1991, 109).
2
Airbrushing has become an industry standard. For more on this subject read about actress Jamie Lee
Curtis’ experience posing for More magazine. She chose to do a feature showing what she looks like
without make up, airbrushing etc., compared to a photo of her after three hours with a crew of 13 beauty
experts. More editors said the reaction from the public was “100 percent positive...We got hundreds of
letters from women saying ‘Thank You’ and they were saying ‘You look like me’ or ‘I look like you.’”
(http://www.cbsnews.com/stories/2003/04/28/48hours/main
 14

they look and produces a “normative” mentality. These are bodies which to aspire.

Research shows aggressive media messages do indeed influence body image (Paquette

and Raine 2004, 1047).3 Bordo notes that preoccupation with slenderness functions “as

one of the most powerful normalizing mechanisms of our century” because it insures “the

production of self-monitoring and self-disciplining ‘docile bodies’” (Bordo 1993, 168).

Culture narrows our options for attaining self-esteem and steers us to internalize certain

messages that result in self-regulating measures, which ultimately serves the culture-

makers and financiers.

While not everyone internalizes social messages in the same way it is difficult to

escape the normalizing messages portrayed in the media. Even a woman who claims to

reject the media’s suggestion of what an ideal body should look like is aware of what

those expectations are. In fact, as John Berger says, “We are now so accustomed to being

addressed by [media images] that we scarcely notice their total impact… we accept the

total system of publicity images as we accept an element of climate” (Berger 130).

Participants in my interviews reflected awareness of this climate. Joan Woodbury said

she sees “too much emphasis on the perfect body in all of the advertising” and Raegan

Wood Saunders felt that in America there is “a very narrow accepted image of what a

woman’s body should look like: Perfectly thin, nicely round in only the right places,

preferably totally gorgeous and never over twenty-five” (Wood Saunders). While many

people may recognize super bodies are “super”—those of superstars or supermodels—it

3
Here are some sources (but not a comprehensive list) for further reading on media effects:
Thompson, J. Kevin, and Leslie Heinberg. The Media’s Influence on Body Image
Disturbance and Eating Disorders: We’ve Reviled Them, Now Can We Rehabilitate Them? Journal of
Social Issues, Vol. 55, No. 2, 1999, pp. 339-353.
Levine, Michael P. and Smolack, Linda. “The Relation of Sociocultural Factors to Eating Attitudes and
Behaviors Among Middle School Girls.” Journal of Early Adolescence November 1994: 471-475.
(Etcoff and Orbach 2006, 18)
 15

is difficult to deny the underlying message these bodies convey: that there is something

normal and acceptable about them.

Why do these super bodies dominate? Because they are useful; by embodying

current definitions of sex appeal, these super bodies can cut through the noise of the

media barrage and command attention. Hence they are valuable to a consumer culture

that is mobilized by advertising. John Berger speaks to this point:

Capitalism survives by forcing the majority, whom it exploits, to define their own
interests as narrowly as possible. This was once achieved by deprivation. Today
in developed countries it is being achieved by imposing a false standard of what is
and what is not desirable. (Berger 154)

In spite of the fact that these bodies are homogenized and mythologized and are

not representative of the average media consumer, they continue to dominate the

advertising world. These über-bodies speak to our insecurities and inspire consumption;

they are a powerful money making tool in a competitive marketplace. According to

Jacobs-Brumberg, these marketing strategies play into body angst and “result in

enormous revenues for manufacturers of skin and hair products as well as diet foods”

(Jacobs Brumberg 1998, xxiii).

It may be tempting to view the economic viability of the sexualized female body

as purely a construct of male pleasure and power. However, as Bordo points out, it is

important to “recognize the degree to which women collude in sustaining sexism and

sexist stereotypes” (Bordo 1993, 28). She even says, “many, if not most, women also are

willing (often, enthusiastic) participants in cultural practices that objectify and sexualize

us” (Bordo 28).

In spite of the economic power of advertising and media constructed bodies, I still

wonder how these skewed bodies maintain such a strong presence in American culture
 16

when they are so obviously not congruent with everyday life. Berger explains that these

images remain credible not because they are truthful or fulfill the promises they claim to

make but because of the fantasy they provide; “their essential application is not to reality

but to day-dreams” (Berger 146). When people view idealized bodies they can project

themselves onto those bodies and dream of the day when their bodies might look the

same. The economic power of beautiful bodies lies in their power to inspire

dissatisfaction,4 “not with the way of life in society, but with his own within it” (Berger

142), which inspires consumption with the promise of transformation.

The discrepancy between media images and actual bodies inspires a culture of

“self-monitoring and self-normalization” (Bordo 203).5 Bodies congruent with

normalizing ideals connote a correct attitude and self-control. Conversely, bodies that do

not meet ideal standards connote laziness and a lack of self-control. Philosopher Michel

Foucault calls normalization “one of the great instruments of power” (Foucault 1977,

190). The function of the “norm” is to render differences apparent, and to have a

standard to measure against. The beautifully sculpted bodies ever present in popular

culture media work as a normalizing agent. Prevailing norms are not predominately

maintained by external coercion, but through individual self-surveillance. Interviewee

Rachel Harris noted how she sees internal surveillance enacted in the dance culture,

saying:

4 For more interesting statistics on disordered eating, body image concerns, and media influence please see
the National Eating Disorder Information Centre (NEDIC) website at
http://www.nedic.ca/knowthefacts/statistics.shtml, and About-Face’s Media Facts, and Body Image Facts
sections at, http://www.about-face.org/r/facts/media.shtml., and http://www.about-face.org/r/facts/bi.shtml.
5
Diana Damean’s article “Media and gender: Constructing feminine identities in a postmodern culture”
explores this topic further.
 17

There is a great deal of encouragement, in our society in general and in

dance in particular, for women to be thin even to the point of illness. I
think that women (including myself) too often give in to this propaganda
and let it undermine their image of themselves.

While media influences are experienced intermittently and externally, women who dance

live within a highly specific body culture, one that deserves a closer look.
 CHAPTER 2

DANCING BODIES: BODIES SPEAK

Dancing women experience a magnified bodily awareness. As an art form that

uses the body as its primary medium, dance is a place where body expectations thrive and

is a breeding ground for discourses of a “perfect” body. While aesthetics vary from ballet

to modern, and from company to company, there is still an overarching emphasis on

perfectly shaped, lean, well-defined bodies. With such limited body outlines available in

dance, the expanding body of a pregnant woman is a challenge.

As a dancer I am aware that certain types of bodies are preferred; because of this I

argue, as Ann Cooper Albright argues, “for a more complex awareness of how dance

operates as a form of representation” (Cooper Albright 1997, 50). Researching the

female body in representation has opened my mind to the mindless manner in which I

have accepted dancing bodies, including my own. Looking back on my formative

dancing years, in high school, undergraduate, and even graduate studies, everything

seemed so natural; the slender and sculpted bodies with which I associated every day

were never questioned, unless it was a question of how someone managed to acquire such

a “perfect” body. I was not drawn to question why I felt a certain individual had an

enviable body; I just knew when they did. Through the process of writing this thesis I

have become more critically aware of ways in which I have enacted a normalizing
 19

mentality towards my body. I also recognize that in order to fully understand why the

pregnant body is disruptive in dance it is important to investigate the culture of dancing

bodies.

Bodies that Matter

In her book Choreographing Difference, Cooper Albright discusses “the ways in

which professional dance has traditionally been structured by an exclusionary mindset

that projects a very narrow vision of a dancer as white, female, thin, long limbed,

flexible, able-bodied” (Cooper Albright 57). Her chapter on dance and disability

questions these ideals and asks, “What kind of body can constitute a dancer?” (Cooper

Albright 57). Though, unlike a disabled body, the pregnant body is merely temporarily

altered, many of the ideas Albright discusses in relation to the disabled body apply well

to the pregnant body. Albright writes that the role of a dancer has been “historically

reserved for the glorification of an ideal body” (Cooper Albright 57). So what does it

mean when a nonideal body, a pregnant body, is integrated with so-called “normal”

dancing bodies or when it is featured alone?

The genesis of modern dance came from the idea of portraying a more “natural”

body, free of toe shoes and corsets and restrictive set movements. There is an underlying

pride in being accepting of different movement and different bodies, as well. When

compared with the body culture of ballet this is true, but as Albright confesses, with the

evolution of time and codification of styles “what becomes clear to the student involved

in modern or contemporary dance forms that emphasize the ‘natural’ body is that this is a

very conscious construction—one that, in fact, takes years to embody fully” (Cooper
 20

Albright 32). The modern dance body is nonetheless asked to be lean and muscular.

There are still very few large dancers in contemporary companies and fewer still who are

pregnant, and represented on stage later into pregnancy.

Two Bodies: Contained and in Control

Bodies in a presentational setting in contemporary dance are not so narrowly

defined that they fit neatly into one category, but I do see two main female body types

that speak to a common ideal: small, lithe, lean bodies, and strong, muscular, lean bodies.

Although these bodies fit two different aesthetics, and some choreographers seem to

favor one over the other, the main idea behind these bodies is that they are generally

small to medium build, and, most importantly, contained and in control. Looking around

the room in a technique class, none of the students have similar body types or structures,

but they all have nicely shaped and “controlled” bodies, and while some bodies may be

less than perfectly in control, they are still working toward that ideal.

Maintaining an ideally shaped body connotes a “correct attitude” (Bordo 195),

that one has discipline and self control. Interviewee Denise Hurlin spoke to this idea

from her own life experience. She transitioned from professional performing to arts

advocacy after giving birth and has struggled with the changes in her body in relation to

her perception of dancing bodies. She writes, “I feel as though I am weak in some way

that I have not maintained my dancing body. Dancers that look the same after giving birth

are respected…” It is almost implied that an inability to maintain a well-contoured

dancing body demonstrates an incorrect attitude towards your body.

 21

Interview participant Sarah Barry’s experience speaks to normative pressure she

feels. She writes:

I have always felt that I am too “fat” and could stand to lose 10 pounds or
so. But at the same time, I know I am a healthy and fit person. I definitely
feel the pressure to be thin, especially in the dance world. No one would
look at me and guess that I was a dancer. I certainly am not tall or very
lean. Sometimes I feel that my students, when first meeting me, must
question my ability to dance or teach because of my body. And as I am
searching for a job right now, I wonder if any of the schools see pictures
of me and immediately rule me out. I know I have been to several
auditions where the first exercise was ridiculously simple, like a walking
pattern or triplets across the floor, and I was cut in that first round. This
was definitely because of my body type and not my movement skills. This
kind of reaction to my body has definitely created some insecurity issues.
(Barry).

As Albright says, “Even companies such as Bill T. Jones and Arnie Zane Dance

Company, who pride themselves on the diversity of their dancers, rarely have much

variation among the women dancers (all of whom are quite slim). Any time a dancer’s

body is not completely svelte, the press usually picks up on it (Cooper Albright 72). She

expounds on what I find key in explaining the bodies that are seen on stage:

It is no longer enough to be thin; one must have ubiquitous muscle definition,

nothing loose, flabby, or ill defined, no fuzzy boundaries. And of course, there’s
the importance of control. Control over aging, bodily processes, weight, fertility,
muscle tone, skin quality, and movement. (Cooper Albright 73-74)

Bodies that are visibly “in control” are acceptable dancing bodies, and bodies that are

deemed out of control generally unpresentable. I call these acceptable bodies “beautiful

bodies.” Unfortunately I find myself comparing my body to these ideals. I have been

petite all of my life, and to some people I may have a “dancer’s body.” Yet, in spite of

this, I still find parts of my body that I do not like, which, ironically, are the same parts

that “bulge” more than I think they should. I find myself applying the same bodily

standards on myself.
 22

Bodies for Sale: Beautiful Bodies

I would guess that most dancers would not consciously acknowledge (or even

want to acknowledge) that they are body entrepreneurs, but this a reality. Professional

dancers rely on the approval of their bodies just as models or even strippers do. Dancing

bodies are presented for visual consumption. Even though this is not the sole intent, as

with bodies in advertising or pornography, dancing bodies are to be seen and enjoyed. As

such, there are expectations of bodies seen in concert dance. One interview participant,

Shirley Ririe, highlighted this point precisely. When responding to the question, “Have

you ever seen a visibly pregnant dancer perform? If so, what was your response?” she

said:

Yes I have seen some. When costumed properly and when it “works” with
the choreography it is OK with me. Of course I prefer the skinny “dancer
type”. I am getting very put out when fat dancers perform. I remember we
had a fat girl who was really very good (a student) so we put her in a
prominent role. We had lots of flack about that. This girl turned out to be
an important chair of a dance dept. in the East, but Joan and I learned that
in order to be “professional” and not “educational” we had to be very
aware of what the dancer looked like. At the time we had educational
leanings, but I think that does not help the dance audience.

This response illuminates some important elements in regard to expectations for dancing

bodies. I must admit that I am impressed that Ririe so readily admits to genuine body

fascism, choosing skinny bodies over fat bodies. As much as I do not like to admit it, if I

am honest with myself I have to say that I practice a similar, if less stringent,

discrimination, as well. I discovered this while I was envisioning portions of a dance film

that I would like to create in the future. As I was daydreaming I realized that all of the

bodies that I saw dancing in my head were all part of the “cult of the lean and the buff”

(Pronger 2). I did not see a variety of body shapes and sizes in my head; I only saw
 23

“nicely shaped,” highly controlled dancing bodies. This made me realize how naturalized

it is to expect these certain types of bodies. I did not consciously exclude dancers that do

not fit this mold; these bodies were just what came to mind.

I also find it interesting to note that Ririe indicates a certain amount of

“obligation” to the audience to display these beautiful body types. I think this attitude

explains why beautiful bodies are those seen on stage: people expect to see these bodies

on stage, and therefore these bodies are seen. Ririe acknowledges the relationship

between the representer (as a founder and co-artistic director of a prominent modern

dance company in the West), the represented (the bodies she consciously chooses to put

on stage), and the audience (those who pay to view a beautiful body). Using Foucault

clarifies the connection between controlled bodies and bodies on stage: “Their visibility

assures the hold of the power that is exercised over them. It is the fact of being constantly

seen, of being able always to be seen, that maintains the disciplined individual in his

subjection” (Foucault 199). The performing dancing bodies maintain a culture of

“perfection” precisely because of their visibility.

Albright identifies how the form of dancing bodies relates to their meaning. She

writes,” When dancers take their place in front of the spotlight, they are often displayed

in ways that accentuate the double role of technical prowess and sexual desirability (the

latter being implicit in the very fact of a body’s visual availability)” (Cooper Albright

58). “Normal” dancing bodies in professional dance companies are sleek, defined, and

sexy. In a world where sexuality is flaunted in mass media, it seems normal that dancing

bodies would be seen as sexy, too.

 24

Linking back to Foucault and Berger, the sexual desirability inherent in beautiful

dancing bodies makes them viable and useful in a capitalistic world. Dancing bodies are

valuable precisely because of their sexual acceptability; Pronger calls the buff and lean

body “a highly desirable resource” (Pronger 2). These are ideas that I had not considered,

and I must say that this new perspective is somewhat alarming. To validate these

assumptions, I went to the websites of many of the high profile modern dance companies,

mostly based in New York City, such as Paul Taylor, Doug Varone, David Dorfman,

David Parsons, and Mark Morris,6 to look at the bodies on display. Site after site, each

company displays visual eye-candy. Looking at these company’s photographs led me to

look at photographer Lois Greenfield’s website.7 The list of choreographers that she has

photographed reads like a Who’s Who list: Pilobolus, Trisha Brown, Doug Varone, Sean

Curran, and David Parsons, to name a few. The bodies Greenfield uses are indeed

stunning; “perfect” is a word that comes to my mind when viewing these gorgeous,

sculpted bodies caught in a moment of impossibility. What strikes me about these bodies,

in addition to their apparent perfection, is their ability to look so almost effortlessly. They

are, as one critic writes, “beautiful bodies frozen in space.” (Whitney 2007)

I have mixed feelings towards Greenfield’s dance photography. My initial

response in the past has been positive. I remember having her calendar up on my bulletin

board during my freshman year of college and using the pictures to decorate my walls as

the months passed. Her pictures were exciting and inspiring. Her photographs give

modern dance a visibility it otherwise does not have in contemporary popular culture.

6
http://www.ptdc.org/wallpaper.php, http://www.dougvaroneanddancers.org/gallery.php,
http://www.daviddorfmandance.org/, http://www.parsonsdance.org/cms/Photo_Galleries.php,
http://markmorrisdancegroup.org/resources/photo_gallery,
7
http://loisgreenfield.com/galleries/dance/index.html
 25

Many people who have never been to a modern dance concert still may have come across

her photographs. In that way I applaud them. They are stunning, gorgeous, impossible

looking. They make me want to get up and dance, to make something beautiful.

But, upon closer deconstruction, I find them to be some of the most striking

examples of the beautiful body in the dance scene. The dancers seem super-human with

flawless, almost unreal bodies. There are no bumps, lumps or misshapen parts; merely

chiseled bodies with nothing in excess—nothing.

At times I have felt guilt for having some body angst; the hegemonic culture of

beautiful bodies is sometimes so effective at masking the normality of the beautiful body

that dancers themselves pretend not to be affected by it. It is possibly a sign of weakness

to admit that you feel pressure to conform to these body aesthetics because bodies should

just naturally be that way. I was relieved to find in my interviews that many women felt

similar pressures to measure their bodies against the beautiful body ideals. Some of the

responses were so compelling I quote them at length:

I think my attitude about my body is much more affected by being in the

dance world, where there are so many incredible bodies and so much
attention to the details of these bodies, than by anything in the general
society’s expectation of women’s bodies. The dance world is great place
to obsess about one’s body and only see what could be better. (Casey)

My body image has always been a struggle for me. I’ve always felt I
should be thinner to be a dancer. I think that the ideal “dancer” body has
been evolving somewhat to include a strong, lean look as another option to
the lithe and thin body of the socially acceptable ballerina. I still feel we
have a long way to go in accepting a variety of body types on stage.
(Phillips)

I think my attitude toward my body is absolutely affected by social

expectations of women’s bodies; however it is far more affected by the
even stricter criteria for the dancer’s body in the world of dance. In dance
breasts are not helpful, round butts, hips and bellies are frowned upon, and
 26

aging and sagging body parts are definitely not acceptable. (Wood
Saunders)

As mature and intelligent as I feel I am, I must admit that being raised in
dance, it was ingrained into me that my body must be all those things I just
mentioned in my previous answer [slim, well-groomed, youthful and
toned]. Of course, I am 42 and my body has changed over the years, but
not without much private angst and guilt. I don’t feel the pressure from
society, I feel the pressure from my training and performance as a dancer.
(Rigert)

Some days it takes a real decision to ignore the temptation to think [I’m]
not thin or lean enough. (Robinson)

I love the refreshing honesty and insightful clarity with which these women speak. I feel

that some women feel the need to act like social pressures do not affect them. Pronger

writes, “The irony… is that this ‘commercialization’ of the body is a sign of our profound

failure to live authentically” (Pronger 2); this captures precisely what I feel is unfortunate

about the stringent aesthetic promoted through dancing bodies on stage. The perpetuation

of the beautiful body is exclusionary, inauthentic, and encourages dancers to value

themselves by what type of body they are capable of displaying instead of how they dance

and who they are.

Trying to map where the pregnant form fits in the contemporary dance scene

inspires me to be more critical of the body culture cultivated in the dance world. It is a

finely crafted culture of limited acceptability. Body fascism, and the naturalized culture

of beautiful bodies, masks the significance of beautiful bodies. I still look at Greenfield’s

pictures, and bodies of professional dancers in awe, but now also with an eye of

suspicion. Being aware of the ways in which professional dancing bodies fulfill

stereotypes and perpetuate expectations does not rob them of their beauty, because in

reality, they are decidedly part of an elite beautiful body crowd. It does make the process
 27

of visual consumption more interesting and thoughtful. Dissecting dominant bodies

makes room for nondominant bodies, like the pregnant body. In dance it is truly a non-

dominant body, an aberration from the norm, and in my opinion it forces viewers, myself

included, to confront expectations of dancing bodies.

 CHAPTER 3

PREGNANT WITH MEANING: BODIES THAT MATTER

Looking Is Not Simple: Multiple Interpretations of the Pregnant Body

en·ig·mat·ic or en·ig·mat·i·cal adj

difficult to interpret, understand, or explain8

In spite of the visibility technology such as ultrasound gives this bodily event, the

pregnant body maintains an aura of mystery in contemporary Western culture.

Interviewee Pamela Geber identified with this sense of mystery. She writes:

It’s mysterious to an outsider---and even to me as a pregnant woman

because you can’t actually see the fetus. You can only imagine. You can
only watch your body grow and change…

Geber also felt, “there is a bit of fear, wonder and genuine curiosity about the pregnant

body” (Geber). I find this sense of mystery integral to setting the stage for consideration

of the pregnant dancing body—a mysterious experience, made more curious when placed

in a presentational setting such as the performing dance stage.

The pregnant body exists at a crossroads of the cultural, personal and biological.

Multiple, often contradictory discourses, myths, and stereotypes surround this fecund

form. It is a body pregnant with multiple meanings; as Jennifer Musial writes it is,

“ambivalent—it occupies a space, both literally and metaphorically, this is both/and as

opposed to either/or” (Musial 2002, iii).

8
Encarta® World English Dictionary © 1999 Microsoft Corporation. All rights reserved. Developed for
Microsoft by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc.
 29

Interviewees noticed the complicated nature of the pregnant body. Descriptive

words used by participants’ evidence a varied existence. Some of the words ranged from

positive words such as, beautiful, unique, cute, and sensual to more negative words such

as, aberrant, disconcerting, feared, and fat.9 Other words were more neutral such as

normal, curious, mysterious, unusual, and public. June Omura of the Mark Morris Dance

Company, who was pregnant with twins, noticed a range of responses “sometimes at the

same moment, from awe and gratitude to disgust” (Omura). She experienced people

giving up their seats on the subway and being very concerned if she fell down, but also a

woman who asked her “Girl, who did that to you?!!” (Omura). Raegan Wood Saunders

felt perceptions of the pregnant body are “varied; not just one thing,” everything “from

revered and thought of as mysterious… to eschewed and found repugnant” (Wood

Saunders). And Donna White noticed what I have felt, that the pregnant body is “hard to

generalize—highly variable” (White).

Only recently has the pregnant body become a “shape and an experience worthy

of aesthetic attention” (Davis-Floyd 2000, n.p.). Matthews and Wexler’s book Pregnant

Pictures published in 2000 was the first large-scale analysis of the pregnant form in

visual culture. As professors who had recently given birth they “couldn’t help but note

the gap between” their “actual experiences of pregnancy, family, and work, and the

photographs of pregnancy available to” them (Matthews and Wexler 2000, xiii). A

9
Airbrushing has become an industry standard. For more on this subject read about
actress Jamie Lee Curtis’ experience posing for More magazine. She chose to do a
feature showing what she looks like without make up, airbrushing, etc., compared to a
photo of her after three hours with a crew of thirteen beauty experts. More editors said
the reaction from the public was “100 percent positive… We got hundreds of letters from
women saying “Thank You” and they were saying ‘You look like me’ or ‘I look like
you.’” (http://www.cbsnews.com/stories/2003/04/28/48hours/main)
 30

similar disconnect brought me to investigate this experience in dance. In order to situate

the pregnant dancing form it is important to illuminate the pregnant form culturally.

The Pregnant Body: Bodies that Matter

From the Victorian Era through the 1940s, a woman wasn't supposed to show 'her

condition,' (as it was called). Pregnancy was also called ‘confinement.’ A pregnant

woman was not a welcome sight in public because she brought to mind the act that

caused the pregnancy, so pregnancy was concealed. During the Victorian era women

even continued to wear corsets during pregnancy. Once corseting and literal confinement

disappeared women hid their pregnancies behind baggy, tent-like clothes. During the run

of the I Love Lucy show in the early 1950s the writers dealt with Lucy’s real life

pregnancy very delicately, calling it her “condition.” Lucy’s growing pregnant belly was

a reminder of what actually happens behind closed doors, and in a household with two

twin beds we are not apt to think much goes on. Thankfully this is not the case in

contemporary America today; pregnant women are certainly visible. But this does not

mean that the pregnant body has been liberated from confining ideals.

The Glossy Coating

Posing nude at eight months pregnant on the cover of the August 1991 Vanity

Fair magazine actress Demi Moore opened a new chapter for the pregnant body in the

public space.10 Though highly controversial at the time (some newsstands refused to sell

the magazine without an opaque wrapper) this public exhibition of the pregnant form
10
Numerous authors have written about Moore’s famous nude magazine covers including Cusk,
Cunningham, and Saab to name a few.
 31

launched the pregnant body into the era of what I call “The Glossy Coating,” and is one

of the most influential forces shaping the cultural presence of the pregnant form today.

Posing completely nude with hands and thighs positioned perfectly to cover the

appropriate places Moore is stunning. Her body and skin, like a perfectly ripened peach,

are sleek and smooth; she looks radiant. Although her second pregnancy, there is no

evidence of cellulite, stretch marks, inappropriate bulges, or a previous pregnancy; as

Joyce Maynard writes, Moore makes it look as if “being pregnant is nothing more

complicated than carrying around a basketball” (Maynard n.p.). In spite of the

immediate controversy, “Moore was praised for defying conservative social attitudes by

celebrating pregnant women as glamorous and sexualized” (Cunningham 2002, 6).

Moore’s pregnant parade ushered in an era of fascination with highly visible

celebrity pregnancies. One cheeky article in a British online magazine calls it an

“astounding fashionalization,” saying, “forget Louis Vuitton handbags or Jimmy Choo

shoes, because right now there's nothing more fashionable for Hollywood's leading ladies

than a baby bump, swollen ankles and bigger boobs (iVillage.co.uk 2007).” This

Hollywood baby centrism has an interesting affect on the way the pregnant form is

socially viewed.

At first this new visibility appears progressive, even liberating. Looking at Demi

Moore I cannot help but think, “Finally, the pregnant woman has been let out of the

closet where she has been hiding. No more tent dresses and mumus here.” A body that

was once dismissed from the public sphere, a body that has even been viewed by some as

a symbol of women’s oppression, is now not only openly a part of public life but featured

in a presentational glamorized manner. It is tempting to equate visibility with progress,

 32

i.e., greater visibility in the public sphere = greater acceptance and freedom. On many

levels I think this is true; but I also think the Hollywood bump enacts a fascinating

dualism.

Visibility is better than pregnant forms being hidden or secretive, but it also

contributes to a new set of expectations for the pregnant form. Hollywood bodies are

scrutinized for their size and shape, and pregnancy does not suspend the scrutiny. Glossy

magazines compare which celebrity gained weight most/least gracefully, who lost their

baby weight the fastest, or even grant “awards” to the best looking pregnant form.11

Those who gain more weight than is considered desirable are scrutinized and scolded.12

Those who successfully continue to look thin aside from the belly bump are praised.13

Those that undermine our fantasies are disturbing.

Given that Western cultures “have traditionally tried to separate the maternal from

the sexual in women’s roles, and in women’s lives” (Matthews and Wexler 13), it may

seem paradoxical for the pregnant body to be considered sexy. As feminist author Susie

11
Parents Magazine December 2004 pg 140-141 had a feature titled “2004 Celebrity Pregnancy Awards.”

The Us Magazine April 5, 2004 edition had a feature called “How the Stars Are Losing Baby Weight” (pp
54-55), complete with photos of the stars at their heaviest stage of pregnancy and after giving birth.
12
For more interesting statistics on disordered eating, body image concerns, and media influence please see
the National Eating Disorder Information Centre (NEDIC) website at
http://www.nedic.ca/knowthefacts/statistics.shtml, and About-Face’s Media Facts, and Body Image Facts
sections at http://www.about-face.org/r/facts/media.shtml, and http://www.about-face.org/r/facts/bi/shtml
13
In addition to the traditional celebrity tabloids the internet has inspired an entire genre of celebrity
tracking sights and blogs, many of which dissect the ins and outs of Hollywood bodies including pregnant
bodies. Here are a few sample websites: http://body.aol.com/diet/celebrity/celebrity-pregnancy-weight-loss
(viewed November 28, 2007);
http://babybumpproject.blogspot.com (viewed November 28, 2007); is a blog by Meredith Nash, a PhD
student in History at The University of Melbourne in Australia. Nash’s research focuses on pregnant body
image, celebrity pregnancy and motherhood.
http://babyrazzi.com/baby and http://celebrity-babies.com (both viewed November 28, 2007); report on all
things relating to pregnant celebrities and mothering.
http://www,eonline.com/Features/Features/BabyBoom/Fashion/index4.html (viewed September 6, 2004);
E! Online even had a section entitled “Pregnant Fashion Police,” which rated celebrity pregnancies on their
ability or inability to remain stylishly pregnant.
 33

Bright declares, it is an “awesome feat of American Puritanism to convince us that sex

and pregnancy do not mix. It is the ultimate virgin/whore distinction. For those nine

months, please don’t mention how we got this way. We’re Mary now ” (Bright 1992,

101). Matthews and Wexler say, and I agree, that the drive to “fragment female

sexuality is so pervasive and deeply rooted that is seems natural” (Matthews and Wexler

13). The Hollywood sexy pregnancy is at least evidence that this fragmentation is not

monolithic, and as interviewee Kathy Casey said, seeing the pregnant woman as sensual

is an “essential step forward in seeing women in their full dimension” (Casey).

Looking deeper past the “What?” (a pregnant woman on a magazine cover) to the

“What does it do?”, I find the glamorized manner in which Moore and others are

presented yet another shackle in the “beautiful body” system. Entering the public eye

through celebrity exposure colors expectations for pregnant bodies. Now stringent body

ideals even apply to a body that in all essence is about getting bigger. My concern is that

now there is an expectation that the pregnant body must somehow be “performed” in a

certain way to be acceptable.

Moore’s watershed feature is disturbing, as disturbing as it is stunning. Not

disturbing on any moral grounds, but because it leaves nothing to the imagination. We

cannot wonder if she is secretly hiding some cellulite or stretch marks. We cannot hope

that perhaps her “condition” might cause her to come down from her pedestal in the

pantheon of über-bodies and look a little more like us. The fact that Moore is so exposed

does not allow for the possibility of anything less than a body of physical perfection, even

in its expanded state. With Moore’s body as the standard, the bar is set, and we have the
 34

visual instructions of what “doing” pregnancy well looks like: smooth, rounded in only

the right places and certainly no stretch marks.

Matthews and Wexler call photographs of the pregnant body “opaque” and

“resistant to the viewers mastery” and most importantly “often awkwardly situated in

relation to familiar strategies of visual objectification” (Matthews and Wexler xiv.) I

think this is key to understanding the pregnant form in media culture. The pregnant body

has not traditionally fit the mold for female visual objectification, so it was not featured;

now media and advertising have invited this body into the dialogue, and yet it is still

“awkwardly situated.”

The dancing pregnant body is even more complicated in relation to a

glamour/presentational representation of the body. I wonder if one possible explanation

for the lack of visibility of this form on the performing stage is that there has been no

economic incentive to put it there, and in fact there might be disincentives. It is also

intriguing to consider that 2-D media can be edited/controlled, while a live pregnant body

onstage cannot be Photoshopped or glossed over. The Hollywood pregnant body has

forced its way into visibility because it is merely another manifestation of the

glamour/envy = consumption equation; it sells. There is nothing that necessitates that in

the dance culture. In fact, as I will discuss further in Chapter 4, it might very well be the

opposite.

The Body Back

Author Michelle Stacey speaks of this “body back” phenomenon in an

article in Shape Magazine when she writes, “We live in an age of high-achieving
 35

pregnancy… where it seems you should never be able to tell just from looking at

a woman whether she has given birth; where ‘You don’t even look pregnant!’ can

be considered a compliment” (Stacey 2002). Hadley Freeman writes sardonically,

“…expectations for looking good begin even before you swing your legs out of

the stirrups and start thanking the obstetrician… even a hefty pregnancy is no

excuse for a lady letting her guard down. Body fascism is so last century- now it

is ‘pregnant body fascism’” (Freeman 2003). This concept of getting back to

normal,14 i.e., not looking like one has ever given birth, has become a normalized

part of the Western experience of pregnancy; it creates a powerful message to

women, especially working women, that erasing evidence of maternity is essential

to a successful postpartum life. Pregnant and postpartum body fascism is

important to understand the pregnancy experience in contemporary Western

culture.

Pregnancy and birth are life-altering experiences, which require a temporary

suspension of previous expectations for what the body should look like, and do. I must

admit I carried the “body back” mentality into my postpartum recovery, not necessarily

as a goal, but because I had no clue how my body would respond to this body-altering

experience. While my body went back to looking the same as before birth, I did have that

14
Sally Johnson, Anne Burrows, and Iain Williamson address the question of the changing female body in,
“Does My Bump Look Big in This? The Meaning of Bodily Changes for First-time Mothers-to-be”
published in the Journal of Health Psychology. They interviewed women postpartum and found
participants seemed to be grappling with alternative constructions (Johnson, Burrows & Williamson 370).
One woman’s analysis “of the implications of different representations of women's bodies postpartum “
(Johnson, Burrows & Williamson 370) is particularly telling, she said that:
…she recognized the pressure to “get back to normal” after pregnancy from media
images of women such as 'Posh Spice', who had returned to a “virtually anorexic” shape
after the birth of her first child. She said she tried to resist this by drawing on alternative
feminist construction, which says “it's OK to be yourself,” however, she still went on to
say “I just want to get back to a normal figure" (Johnson, Burrows, & Williamson 370).
 36

slight nagging fear in the weeks following my son’s birth that it would not. I was relieved

to fit into my prepregnancy clothes relatively soon after birth and wonder how accepting I

would be of my body if it had not returned to its previous size. Although I am back to

my previous size I am also reminded and aware of my birth experience every day. I had

a cesarean section and feel that my body is forever different as a result, and I have a scar

to remind me. I was completely unprepared for the physical limitations and incapacity I

experienced after birth. It was humbling to go from a facile body that could move

through the space with skill and clarity to being unable to get out of bed to retrieve my

hungry child. It took months before I felt somewhat like myself again, and to some

extent my body will never be the same because of that scar.

Cunningham puts forward an interesting idea about the Hollywood model of

getting the body back; she suggests that the erased postpartum body “…seems to signal a

successful resolution of the so called domestic/public, virgin/whore dichotomy…”

(Cunningham 6) and that through the, “…medium of a manageable body women create

fluidity between identities as sexy worker and nurturing mother” (Cunningham 10).

Pregnancy becomes a fleeting moment; children do not define the body. I think this is a

significant part of the equation for dancing women, as discussed in Chapter 2.

Stereotypical dancer bodies are not in line with the gravid or postpartum body silhouette.

For dancers, like other body entrepreneurs such as celebrities, who depend on their

bodies looking and performing in certain ways, the body back mentality is certainly a part

of the experience.

In spite of overwhelming social messages regarding getting your body back, many

of my interview participants maintained a levelheaded approach to the process. I think

 37

this may be due in part to the fact that dancers are physically active and part of their job

is to use their bodies in a way that sculpts and molds them. Most, like Christine Ollerton

were able to acknowledge the pressure to retain a certain body, and be understanding

about how long it would take to get back into dancing shape. Ollerton said, “There’s a

’dancer’s expectation‘ of weight, of ’being in shape;’ these were motivating concerns for

me. But I always had confidence that I would lose baby fat and get in shape in good

time” (Ollerton). Susan McClain noted a change more in her attitude toward her body

than what it actually looked like; she said “I loved my body after the birth. I felt more

empowered and feminine” (McClain).

Some women actually had an easier time maintaining a dancer body after giving

birth. Gail Abrams noted, “Interestingly, it was after I had my first baby that I began to

really like my body more. I had less trouble maintaining my weight where I wanted it,

and felt pretty proud of my body size and shape considering my age.” Rachel Harris

explained:

I was very surprised to find that I was actually thinner once my belly was
gone. I don’t know if it was just the fact of taking a break from dancing
which I had never done before or if my metabolism changed but I ended
up considerably smaller than I was before the pregnancy.

She goes on to note that she acknowledged the “changes with a sort of detached

curiosity” in part because for the first time in her life “there was something much

more important and demanding than my body. I didn’t care what shape I took as

long as I was able to look after my little one.” Kathy Casey said she didn’t “like

the flabby feeling after birth when my belly went from being so firm to being so

flaccid,” and Gigi Arrington noted humorously that she was appalled that she
 38

could not feel her abdominal muscles and felt “like the real Gigi was hiding

somewhere inside the flabby skin and the chubby face.”

Regardless of whether or not a dancing woman feels stress over her postpartum

body, many dancers end up making peace with their bodies, even if it is a different body

than before birth. I think this is in part due to the active nature of dancers; physicality

comes with the job description, and this aids in the ability to negotiate the changes

inherent in such a body-altering event. A “manageable” body allows a woman to go

between her two identities, mother and dancer. Without the “body back” motivation, a

dancing woman may just be relegated to her mother identity. The “body back” allows a

dancer to reaffirm her dancer identity, as well.

Disconnect: Being Is Not Simple

Because the most visible reference for what pregnancy looks like is the idealized

media representation of pregnancy, I find a disconnect between what many women

experience as real and what is represented as real. The pregnant body is largely absent in

consumer media outside of maternity-related advertising and celebrity body exposés; if a

pregnant body is shown in the media or popular culture more often than not it is the

flawless version that is displayed. While the celebrity cult of pregnancy may seem

progressive it is merely normalizing a new classist representation of pregnancy and

motherhood. Glossy photos of glamorous Hollywood pregnancies are in reality static

representations that flatten the highly complicated lives women lead. When we look at

the glamorous pictures of pregnant Hollywood stars we do not see the army of nannies,

chefs, personal assistants, and personal trainers that assist in maintaining the image of
 39

glamour. As Joan Saab writes, these elements have “been erased to allow for the perfect

shot” (Saab 2005, n.p.). What is modeled as ideal is certainly idealistic, if not unrealistic.

The ideal is key to dissecting the irony of these beautiful burgeoning celebrity

bodies; they display an ideal while seeming radical at the same time. In reference to

female bodily expectations in general it is quite radical to display a pregnant body so

publicly, and yet through the continuing exhibitions of the famous fecund forms they

become “normal;” hence they are normalizing and radical at the same time. If we are

made to think that glamorized pregnant bodies are “radical” bodies, when they are really

not, our definition of “radical” becomes meaningless.

While not every woman will allow celebrity images to impact her sense of self,

their cultural influence cannot be denied. The limited scope of displayed pregnancy

highlights the lack of more realistic representations of the pregnant body available to

women and suggests the necessity of broadening available paradigms. Interviewee

Denise Hurlin pointed to this sense of disconnect. She felt that the pregnant body is more

admired today than it was ten years ago, saying, “fashion has allowed women to stay

hip…”; and yet here is the caveat, “…but of course that is if you don’t gain too much and

look “sloppy” or fat. Just pregnant.” This is the reoccurring theme; pregnant bodies are

acceptable as long as they continue to look idealized.

 CHAPTER 4

THE DANCING PREGNANT BODY: A DISRUPTIVE BODY

dis·rup·tive adj interrupting normal order or progress15

The visibly pregnant body in contemporary dance is a disruptive body. On the

stage and in the classroom it has the potential to disrupt both expectations and

interactions. It is a body that challenges notions of normality and forces people to

confront biases. As a body of such difference, I see it as a body that helps highlight ways

of seeing and being. I believe the lack of academic discourse about the pregnant dancing

body suggests dance theorists have missed or consciously overlooked this body. I think

this has to do with what Albright sees as a reluctance and unwillingness “to touch a body

that is neither entirely “present” nor intriguingly “absent,” but rather liminal, struggling

somewhere between the shores of theoretical surefootedness” (Cooper Albright 60). I

have struggled with the pregnant dancing body while writing this thesis. I have found it

difficult to define, difficult to attribute meaning, often contradictory, and difficult to even

find on the stage or in records of dance. Because of this absent-presence, I feel pressed to

illuminate this body.

The dancing pregnant body is challenging and disruptive to differing degrees, but

I say it is always disruptive to some degree. The word disruptive generally carries a

15
Encarta® World English Dictionary © 1999 Microsoft Corporation. All rights reserved. Developed for
Microsoft by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc.
 41

negative connotation, but I use the definition, “interrupting normal order or progress”

(Encarta 1999). It is a jarring body that commands attention whether is it seen as

surprising and intriguing or uncomfortable or even disgusting or grotesque. I find,

regardless of the tone of the descriptive word, that this body interrupts and disrupts

normalcy for those who view it and those who dance it.

A Challenging Body

The visibly pregnant dancing body is stimulating and thought provoking.

Interviewee Cynthia Oliver wrote that the pregnant body is perceived as “an

aberration” and “an inconvenience.” In a field where bodies have a similar look

the pregnant body rebels against that look; what was once flat is now round, what

was once chiseled, is now softened, what was once contained is now expanding.

Again, Albright’s words in reference to the disabled body can be applied to the

pregnant body:

…insertion of bodies with real physical challenges can be extremely

disconcerting to critics and audience members who are committed to an
aesthetic of ideal beauty. Cracking the porcelain image of the female
dancer as sylph, disabled [or pregnant] dancers force the viewer to
confront the cultural opposite of the classical body—the grotesque body.”
(Cooper Albright 63)

The classical body of which Albright speaks is a static body, one that is

unchanging and reliable. According to Mary Russo the grotesque body is the

opposite of a static body; it is an “open, protruding, extended, secreting body, the

body of becoming, process, and change” (Russo 1986, 219). The pregnant body

aligns more closely with the grotesque body. In a community “committed to an

 42

aesthetic of ideal beauty,” I think intentionally and/or unintentionally, the

pregnant form is excluded.

The pregnant body challenges perceptions of what dancing bodies could

and should be. By dancing fully through her pregnancies interviewee Heidi

Henderson said she felt “empowered surprising” people by facing them with the

opportunity to see “unconventional behavior.” Henderson’s word choice is

telling; being unconventional merely by being in motion (albeit highly stylized)

implies that it is not a traditional dancing body.

Interviewee Cathy Allen shared two very telling examples of how the

pregnant body can be disruptive. In 1988 while taking class in a professional

setting, seven months pregnant with her first child, she had a fellow dancer ask

her in a disgusted tone “how could you do that to your body?” (Allen). Knowing

the body-centric nature of the field and the personal anxiety her changing body

created for herself, Allen felt this was a legitimate question and “good example

of the fear that dancers have about letting go of the work they have accomplished

with their instruments [their bodies].” Allen experienced a similar situation

during her third pregnancy in 1996, this time in a university dance department

with two male visiting artists-in-residence; they flippantly mentioned what a

“catastrophe a woman’s body becomes from pregnancy” and showed little

“respect for the whole event.”

Pregnant as a graduate student in 1999 interviewee Kate Monson said

there were some men in her university department who “found the pregnant body

so disconcerting that they cut off almost all communication with me. They didn’t
 43

know how to react to the change in body, as though it had changed my whole

being…” These are rather extreme examples, but give substance to ideas I

believe were present in the contemporary dance world.

I think the key to understanding these responses is not necessarily that the

pregnant body is gross, but that people are not used to seeing it in motion. I

experienced this when showing family and friends my thesis creative work, which

features a highly pregnant dancer. I showed my film to my cousin and his wife

and was fascinated by my cousin’s response. Upon seeing Robbins’ pregnant

belly for the first time my cousin said, “Gross!” and laughed uncomfortably.

Upon further conversation I discovered that he said gross not because he literally

thought her body was gross but because he did not know what to do with it.

Seeing such a gravid body dancing so fully was startling and unexpected.

This example highlights why a lack of visibility creates a cyclical

experiential and language void. People feel uncomfortable when they do not have

the language to express how they feel, even though, like my cousin, they may not

know how they feel. Representation and visibility are important not only for the

images to become commonplace and acceptable, but also because with

representation and exposure comes the language to describe and explain.

Language helps mediate the awkwardness, but that language cannot become

commonplace without more frequent and visible representation.

 44

An Able Body?

The pregnant body has a social stigma of being heavy, oppressive,

difficult in which to move, and even at times, ill. Multiple interviewees sensed

this general cultural attitude and found it heightened in regard to the pregnant

moving form. Rebecca Phillips sensed the pregnant form “is not respected as

powerful, strong and active” and Kathie Debenham felt the general population

sees the pregnant body as a non-capable body needing special care and protection,

and that it “should not be a physically active body.” Lisa Race felt this too,

saying that it makes us “uncomfortable in some ways as watchers.” In a world of

seemingly static and strong bodies the potential vulnerability of the pregnant form

can be unsettling; she may fall or stumble over her cumbersome body, she may

harm herself or the baby, she might leak, or erupt, or tire. Her potential for

instability disrupts a viewer’s sense of stability that powerful, muscular, dancing

bodies generally project.

While pregnant, Race surprised herself and others at how much she could

do—and for how long (she was still teaching handstands in technique at seven

months pregnant). The dancing pregnant body’s ability is possibly a greater

disruption than its fragility16 because it proves social stigmas are not entirely

substantiated. In spite of the fact that a majority of the women in my interviews

reported feeling safe and able regardless of the altered bodies in which they

16 I do not intend to imply that pregnancy does not affect a woman’s dancing, because it does at some
point impact the ability to do certain types of movements and can affect stamina; caution should also be
exercised due to health complications. For some women, especially those who experienced multiple
miscarriages, pregnancy was a time to take it easy. Cynthia Oliver said she did not dance past the three-
month mark with her last pregnancy because she had had so much difficulty staying pregnant in the past
(Oliver). I experienced this myself, becoming pregnant for the third time after two miscarriages, I had a
strong desire to take it very easy through the first trimester if not for the safety of the baby as for my mental
status as well.
 45

moved, many had personal experiences affirming these fears. Gigi Arrington,

Kathie Debenham, and Joanna Haigood had experiences worth highlighting. At

seven or eight months, during her third and last pregnancy, Debenham recalled

taking another faculty member’s technique class. The studio had an observation

space and passersby could watch from above. She wrote, “After class, I went into

the department office to hear someone ‘reporting me’ to the secretary: ’There is a

pregnant woman in that class down there and she is going to hurt herself!’ I

assured the individual that I had danced before my pregnancy and had kept

dancing throughout and that I was not in a delicate condition.” Arrington had a

similar experience at the same institution, where she taught through her entire

pregnancy. The last week before she gave birth crowds would gather outside of

the window to the classroom wondering, “…should someone stop her?”

Arrington also performed seven months pregnant and was told that some audience

members were uncomfortable watching her dance. She conjectures this was

“more out of concern for my condition than feeling it was inappropriate for a

pregnant woman to be dancing.” To me, “concern for her condition” indeed

implies it is inappropriate for her to be dancing.

Haigood had an interesting example as an aerial dance artist. She recalled

performing at five months pregnant, flying in a harness “over the audience, belly down,

about 100 feet above the deck.” An audience member complained that she would

probably kill her baby and refused to watch the performance. Haigood felt the reaction

was “understandable” given that aerial dance can be difficult for people to watch “no
 46

matter if they are pregnant or not” but felt confident because she was experienced and

had “taken all the necessary precautions not to compromise the safety” of her child.

In a phone interview, March 14, 2005, choreographer Sean Curran

recounted a revealing experience at Jacob’s Pillow involving a pregnant dancer.

As a director Curran has an accepting attitude towards his dancers becoming

mothers. During this performance one of the founding members of his company

(Donna Scro-Gentile) was eight months pregnant. Curran choreographed her

pregnancy into a new work, Six Laments with the intention that at Jacob’s Pillow

she would perform Six Laments, and another dancer would fill her other roles.

Right before the show her replacement was injured, and Scro-Gentile ended up

performing in all of the pieces, including Folk Dance for the Future, an aerobic

piece filled with vigorous jumping and leaping.

Directors at Jacob’s Pillow worried about Scro-Gentile, and insisted on an

announcement to warn the audience. On the first night the announcer said

something to the effect of “Don’t be frightened, we have a dancer, she’s not fat,

she’s just pregnant.” Curran was offended by this insensitive delivery and asked

the announcer to change the tone for the next performance. Curran reported that

audience members were disturbed by Scro-Gentile’s performance because they

were worried she might get hurt. Audience members could not get over the fear

that something might go wrong and just enjoy the experience of seeing a woman

dance powerfully at such a late stage in pregnancy. The fear of the fragility of

this body overpowers even clear evidence of the opposite. Curran said he felt

proud of the opportunity for her to dance so fully pregnant at such a visible venue.
 47

I find Curran’s attitude refreshing and hope for more choreographers and directors

to adopt his inclusiveness.

These examples and many more among the interviewees demonstrate the

disruptive nature of the visibly pregnant dancing body because as a presumably

vulnerable body it defies preconceived notions that pregnant bodies are un-able

bodies. Subconsciously the agility of a pregnant woman dancing with strength,

power, and fluidity might be more disturbing than the perceived “threat” of

possible injury. This burgeoning body in motion challenges not only traditional

expectations of pregnant bodies but also of dancing bodies. It dualistically breaks

down and reconstructs ideas and expectations in the same moment. The pregnant

dancing body dislocates traditional expectations of what women should do while

pregnant as well as ideals and expectations for dancing bodies in both form and

function. As Debenham put it, this body “…is still viewed as a compromised

body, one that does not carry the aesthetic of the art form” (Debenham).

A Sexed Body

As discussed earlier professional dancing bodies both male and female possess a

similar muscular look and physicality. A visible pregnancy sexes the body in an explicit

way, in a way that no other physical trait can conceal. It engenders and feminizes a

dancing body that may otherwise blend inconspicuously with other muscled forms.

The dancing pregnant body breaks the traditional sexy-body association

that dancing bodies usually display. Some say pregnancy takes a woman’s body
 48

from a sex object to an asexual mother object.17 Marion Olmsted writes that the

rounded “earth mother” image “denoted by obvious hips and breasts and a large

abdomen is antithetical to the thin, muscular, “boyish” shape, which is currently

in vogue,” and consequently the earth mother shape is devalued. Does the

pregnant body become an un-useful body as a dancing body because it does not

meet the prescribed expectations as suitable for display as “sexy?”

Pregnancy has traditionally ‘matronized’ the female body; suddenly it

becomes a mother’s body, maybe even your own mother’s body. It is a body that

will be involved in the minutia of naps, diaper changes, and sleepless nights.

Interviewee Marni Wood noted that “most people (men especially) think of their

mothers without including their body as part of their definition of what they

appreciate or not”; people think more about a mother’s care, not her body. It is

difficult to think of one’s own mother as sexy or as sexual, of which the pregnant

body is evidence. This can be threatening in an environment where bodies are

meant to be on parade because of their ability to be pleasing to the eye. In this

way the pregnant body is dually disruptive; it not only does not meet the

expectations of super-bodies, it also calls to mind experiences unrelated to the

dancing at hand.

Interviewee Rebecca Phillips suggested that, “there is a lot of ‘lip service’

to the beauty of the pregnant body, but there is an underlying negative attitude.”

This observation rings true to me; I think a desire to be politically correct creates

a need to appear tolerant and inclusive, but when it comes down to it, the pregnant

body is not completely accepted as a dancing body for display. Some

17
I do not want to confuse sexy and sexual in this case; by sexy I mean appealing and enticing to watch.
 49

interviewees did have wholly positive experiences dancing pregnant. But more

commonly, most had some less positive experiences.

Out of Control

One way in which the pregnant body does not meet the expectations of concert

dance bodies is that it is seen as a body out of control, and a body spilling over its

boundaries. The pregnant body might not only look out of control in comparison with the

contained-muscled bodies that are normally expected, but to the women who experience

pregnancy, it can feel out of control as well. For women used to being in top physical

form and controlling not only what their bodies look like, but also how they move, the

physical changes of pregnancy can be unnerving.

Interviewee Rachel Harris was six months pregnant before her pregnancy became

obvious. She said, “Before then, I felt awkward and ashamed (will people think that I am

simply fat?), especially when performing. Next to the other dancers’ perfect bodies I felt

unwieldy and awkward.” Kristi Burns said her first pregnancy was a “total shock in

terms of body image and body control.”

Kathy Casey experienced frustration at not having full command of her body

anymore:

There was a fascination with watching the huge changes that occurred but
also a frustration with losing the control of my body. My body fairly
quickly let me know that it did not want to force itself while pregnant,
which was surprising as I had thought I would want to dance throughout
all of my pregnancy.

Interviewee Angela Banchero-Kelleher was dancing professionally during her

pregnancy. She was able to dance until she was six months pregnant, but she put herself
 50

in a potentially dangerous situation to do so. She felt no one in the company was happy

she was pregnant and as a result felt “so much pressure to not let anything get in the way”

of her dancing. She tried mediating this pressure by acting as though she were not

pregnant, and ignored physical signs of exhaustion and sickness to the point that she

passed out during the last night of a performance run. She was anemic and had to spend

the next month in bed. Banchero-Kelleher’s experience is less about not liking her

pregnant body, and more a result of trying to temper the perceived disruption her body

would cause in company interactions.

Other interviewees had more positive experiences with their new body. Janice

Haws Roberts was “incredibly fascinated by the changes,” and Pamela Geber felt a

heightened awareness of her body and saw the changes associated with pregnancy as a

chance to learn from her body. Heidi Henderson, who gained 70 pounds with her second

pregnancy, said she “felt great in a pregnant body” and “loved being really large” and

feeling “grounded and strong.”

Three years into the research and writing of this thesis I finally experienced this

morphing body myself. I felt impressed and disillusioned with the process on a revolving

basis. It was curious to see my body changing so drastically without any conscious effort

on my part. As the months wore on it was also strange and sometimes awkward for me

to maneuver with my newly bulbous belly. It was not until the seventh month that I

really began to feel inhibited by my newly forming shape.

I performed at two months pregnant and taught through five months, but, having

moved across the country at six months during my first successful full-term pregnancy, I

did not have the opportunity to dance or teach during the truly visible and disruptive
 51

stage of pregnancy. As an active yoga practitioner pre- and during- pregnancy I was

surprised and slightly dismayed as my belly increased in size. Things that used to be

easy, poses where I felt very much in control began to feel less and less in control.

Having now been a mother for almost a year, I cannot help but wonder if the physical

processes of pregnancy, and loss of bodily control, are preparation for Motherhood and

the impending lack of control that a newborn brings to life.

While I was pregnant I had an idea for another dance film and attempted to make

it work, but found that I had waited too long to get the process started. It was not until I

was thirty-eight weeks along that I tried to film and found myself awkward and unwieldy.

Having not danced since my belly was still relatively small I felt like I was moving in

someone else’s body. I literally felt unable to convince my body to move how I wanted it

to. I did not like feeling awkward and found myself unmotivated to work hard enough to

get it done. In the end I ran out of time to get it done before I gave birth, largely due to

the disconcerting sensation of not being in control. Throughout writing this thesis I have

felt like an ambassador for the pregnant dancing woman, and have tried to refute

potentially negative stereotypes. At the time it was difficult and slightly embarrassing to

concede that I could not force my body to work as I wished. It was interesting to see that

stereotypes are not entirely false, and that not all negative reactions to the pregnant form

are there to discriminate.

 52

Public/Private

pub·lic adj: made, done, or happening openly, for all to see

The body is generally perceived as a private object, but the loaded nature of the

pregnant body thrusts a woman into the public domain; as Anne Elvey writes, “While the

skin stretches, the boundary between the body and its outside is continually

renegotiated…” (Elvey 2003, 203); whether it invites comments about labor and delivery,

ability for work/life balance after birth, or incites a caress of the belly, the pregnant body

is no longer purely a private matter. The pregnant woman lives at the intersection

between public and private space.

As interviewee Debenham wrote, “Somehow, the fact that a woman is pregnant

makes her an Every Woman, an Eve, an Earth Mother, and is thus a public figure.”

Many interviewees commented on how strange and fascinating it felt to become such a

public entity. One of the most interesting reactions a pregnant woman experiences is that

strangers feel entitled to touch her belly. Interviewee Gail Abrams noted this “strange

phenomenon” saying, “normally no one would be so presumptuous as to touch a person

they don’t know, especially in such a ‘loaded’ area as the abdomen.” On the one hand I

understand the curiosity that causes such forward behavior. I have felt the urge to touch a

pregnant belly myself, but like Abrams “I don't do it if it's someone I don't know, and if it

is, I always ask permission.” In a nonpregnant woman this type of request or advance

would never be made, but as Christine Morton writes, “…in pregnancy the boundary

between where the woman’s body ends and where they baby’s begins is open to new

social constructions.”
 53

Interviewee Heidi Henderson was astounded at how much her body became

public and found her belly to be a conversation opener with strangers. I myself was

amazed at this phenomenon. While writing this portion of my thesis I was eight months

pregnant, and had very similar situations in public places. Interviewee Cynthia Oliver

noted with a tone of frustration how her belly instigated discussions about parenting; “I

don’t understand how this topic becomes one open for public commentary when other

areas of my private life remain so.”

People are interested in pregnant women because of the reason for the silhouette,

a new life, a new baby, a new member of the human species. There is something about

the thought of a newborn that inspires smiles and pleasant emotions. Pregnancy is also a

visual representation of a woman’s entrance into the tribe of motherhood. Seeing a

pregnant woman may take a woman back to her own childbearing days, and to those

tender emotions brought about by one of life’s most transformative experiences. For

women who have not yet had children, the pregnant form is a reminder of the invitation

to enter into the tribe of motherhood. For all the differences in race, economics, religion,

and geography women may have, the experience of becoming a mother is universal.

Piercing the Surface

As curious as the knowing pats, and unsolicited birthing advice may be, I think

of more significance is the way a pregnancy brings a woman’s private life into the

workplace. Even if the rounded physical form were accepted as a dancing and displayed

body, it would still be disruptive—the visibly pregnant body is primarily disruptive

because it is a symbol of major life and priority changes for a dancing woman. As
 54

women have become productive members of society (as defined by a historically male

tradition), I feel their re-productivity is seen more as a hazard.

The visibly pregnant form foreshadows a significant shift that might affect a

woman’s professional goals and availability. This body says to the world, “I am

negotiating personal waters that have social implications. I will be renegotiating who I

am and my priorities.” As authors Daniel N. Stern M.D. and Nadia Bruschweiler-Stern

M.D. write in The Birth of A Mother, “Having a child will redirect your preferences and

pleasures, and most likely will realign some of your values. In a most startling way, it

will influence all of your previous relationships, and cause you to reevaluate your closest

associations…” (Stern and Bruschweiler-Stern 1998, 6).

When a woman adds “mother” to her list of occupations, it can be seen as a threat

to her dedication to her art form, herself, and the institution with which she is involved,

whether it be a university department or a professional company. As Hillary

Cunningham writes, “Postpartum bodies are particularly noisome to capitalist economies

because they can and do stretch on into more permanent bodies profoundly harnessed to

the vicissitudes of parenting” (Cunningham 12).

Interviewee Jane Hawley sensed “an unspoken fear about pregnancy/motherhood

and dance.” She believes “dancers do not want this fear,” and it is driven from external

expectations rather than internal awareness. Institutions and individuals that are not

conducive to mothering could foster this externally driven fear. I think this mentality

induces women to doubt their right to feel supported in this new life endeavor. As

Cynthia Oliver wrote, “Granted, there are individuals that view both [pregnancy and

motherhood] as a measure of balance… but largely…” they are perceived as “an

 55

impediment to progress… an inconvenience… and as something that will hold one back

and slow one down.”

Cathy Allen noted that faculty at her institution teach the students to fully devote

themselves to their art, and as a result “comments are constantly made to the students on

a whole that dance must be your complete life. Nothing else can take the focus if you

are to become a true artist.” She also notes this attitude underlies collegial relationships,

saying “…my colleagues feel [having children] is great as long as you don’t let it affect

your professional goals and availability. If you can keep them separate and accomplish

all sorts of wonderful things you are held in high regard. If family life pierces the

surface of the profession then it is looked at as an unfortunate distraction.”

Visible pregnancy lasts for a short time and the disruption it brings is temporary;

but the complexities of juggling children and a career are enduring. The following

sections highlight some realities of life for dancing women who become mothers.

On the Stage: Performing the Divide

There is an underlying perception that professional performing is not conducive to

pregnancy and motherhood. As interviewee June Omura said, “Motherhood and dance

performance, certainly with a touring company, seem mutually exclusive...”

Interestingly, Omura is one of few interview participants who has been able to maintain a

career in a high profile performing company while having a family, and yet she is still

aware that it seems impossible. Many interview participants indicated this either as a

general perception or from direct life experience: Donna White wrote, “Professional

dance performance and pregnancy don’t mix well.” And Shirley Ririe implies a
 56

connection between institutions and personal choice: “I think many people in the dance

world choose dance over pregnancy. In other words they believe they cannot be a dancer

and have children. Many directors and choreographers are aghast at any dancer getting

pregnant.” These examples speak to a cultural ideological residue that can affect a

woman’s experience.

One interviewee who teaches in the academic setting (who asked not to be

identified) gave a chilling example of how pervasive this mentality can be. She told of a

promising student who became pregnant during her university studies. She came to the

faculty and was advised in a private conference to “get an abortion or she would never

have a career in professional dance” (Interviewee A). She chose to follow their council.

This is obviously an extreme example but it speaks to the underlying mentality that

motherhood and professional dance are, as Omura said, “mutually exclusive.” While

they are not literally mutually exclusive, women with children in prominent modern

dance companies are certainly exceptional. The following are some examples that

demonstrate the gamut of experiences.

Raegan Wood Saunders was performing professionally with The Paul Taylor

Company at the time of her first pregnancy and felt that her decision to have her son

would potentially end her career as a performer. She was even “counseled by many to

have an abortion.” Reflecting on this she encapsulates why motherhood is such a

complicated endeavor for dancing women:

I think that the modern dance world has a relatively negative view of
motherhood. Not necessarily that choreographers are anti-children or
hate babies or are misogynistic but rather that pregnancy is a terrible
inconvenience. A real nuisance and one that they would prefer not to have
to deal with. Modern dancers have to confront the major issues of how to
support a child on a meager modern dance salary if their decision to have a
 57

child has not ended their career. Which means that most modern dancers
who chose to be mothers do so at a relatively late age when they are
opting to give up their careers anyway and more often if they have a good
means of support outside of their careers… (emphasis added)

Wood Saunders hits at the heart of this matter. The lack of the pregnant body on stage is

not necessarily an outright conspiracy against the form, but often a matter of convenience

and/or economics. The structure and finances of most professional dance companies do

not allow for the kind of flexibility for pregnant employees that large corporations can

provide. Many dance companies run on tight budgets and as interviewee Rachel Harris

writes, “They are all so short of money and time as it is that they can do without the

added complications of having pregnant dancers and then mothers on their hands.”

Debenham writes that while there are enlightened company directors who are willing to

work with dancing mothers they are small in number because, “Children complicate life –

it is a fact that can’t be denied. The demands of travel, long and often late hours, are not

compatible with the needs of little ones.”

Again, Wood Saunders’ perspective is fitting; she feels professional companies

act “…from a distance (i.e., theoretically) kindly; with a nod and a smile,” but that “…up

close and personal (i.e., practically) with disdain, annoyance, and concern not for the

welfare of the mother or the child, but for the organization involved.” Banchero-Kelleher

phrased her response almost identically:

I believe that the professional world of modern dance wants to be perceived as

supportive... But the reality is that every decision comes down to money. Can
the company keep you on and hire a replacement for you? If you’re Baryshnikov,
sure---you are vital to the organization. But let’s face it, most of us are
replaceable and the company has to be able to meet it’s obligations…if you are in
a company, you have to be prepared for the director to make the best decision for
the company and not necessarily for you.
 58

Two striking examples highlight the reality of this mentality in professional performing

careers. Both of these interviewees asked not to be identified to protect the ongoing

relations they have within their respective companies. Interviewee B auditioned for a

prominent and well-funded company at the conclusion of her undergraduate career. She

made the company and within two weeks found out that she was pregnant with her

second child. She made an appointment with the directors to discuss the options and was

surprised to find none. Her position had already been offered to the alternate. She says,

“They didn't tell me I couldn't have a baby while in the company, nor did they express

that a baby was inconvenient so ’too bad for me,’ but in an indirect manner it was very

obvious that there was no working around or changing the contract for me” (Interviewee

B). Interestingly, she says that the directors said things like “You are doing something

far greater than what we are doing here” (Interviewee B) and that trying to dance through

the pregnancy would be difficult for her and the family. This hearkens back to what

interviewee Wood Saunders said above, that institutions act from a distance kindly, but in

reality with concern for the company, not the dancer. In reality this dancer’s pregnancy

was inconvenient for their planning and scheduling so they chose not to work with her.

Interviewee B said that their supportive encouragement for her focusing solely on

motherhood helped her deal emotionally with the disappointment (Interviewee B).

However, as an outsider, their concern for her welfare looks more like a cover for

discriminatory practices.

Interviewee B took two years off to stay home with her children and then

auditioned for the same company again and was finally selected, and has danced

successfully with them for a number of years. When she returned she had to assure them
 59

that she had great birth control and that she would not be having any more children for at

least two years [their initial contract period] (Interviewee B). I find this fascinating.

Having watched my husband work in large corporations with well-developed Human

Resources departments I am shocked that this company can actually legally18 get away

with this kind of treatment.

Even though the United States lags behind other developed countries in its efforts

to promote family friendly policies, corporations generally still aim to do what they can

to attract female talent. There are even awards given to companies with the most family

friendly policies and companies use these awards to try and recruit and retain female

employees. It would be absurd, and illegal, for a woman being hired at an accounting

firm to have to pledge about her fertility and sex life in her work contract! But that is the

reality for many dancers. Because their bodies, how they look, their technical facility

(which is certainly affected by the later months of pregnancy), and their availability (i.e.,

not tethered to the vicissitudes of parenting) are essential to their livelihood, somehow

such treatment is an unfortunate reality. I think an underlying sentiment that it is a

privilege to work and be paid to dance, and that there are more qualified dancers than

available positions, means that women do not confront such discriminatory practices in a

way that they rightfully and legally could.

Interviewee C danced with another prominent performing company and had a

different, yet equally troubling story. This dancer was already performing with the

18
I did some extra research in to the legal implications of both of these dancers’ experiences. According to
the The Pregnancy Discrimination Act of 1978 (which amended Title VII of the Civil Rights Act of 1964)
it seems their treatment may in fact be illegal. This act “bans employment discrimination against pregnant
women. Under the Act, a woman cannot be fired or denied a job or a promotion because she is or may
become pregnant, nor can she be forced to take a pregnancy leave if she is willing and able to
work”(http://www.infoplease.com/spot/womenstimeline2.html, http://www.eeoc.gov/facts/fs-preg.html). It
seems to me that Interviewee B was denied a job because she was pregnant and the Interviewee C was
forced to take a leave when she was still willing and able to work.
 60

company when she became pregnant. As a petite woman she began showing early in her

pregnancy. The company had a guest choreographer in town setting a piece and he chose

this dancer for a duet. The company director was not happy with the choreographer’s

decision to cast a pregnant woman in the piece, and immediately cast an understudy and

showed obvious frustration when the choreographer would not work with the understudy

(Interviewee C).

For tour the director changed all of her costumes in order to conceal her small

four-month pregnant bump. At the last show of the nearly month long tour this dancer

was nearly 5 months along and audience members noticed. At a question and answer

session one of the audience members asked how far along she was and how she managed

being lifted and tossed around the stage while pregnant. That night the director called

this dancer to her hotel room and informed her that she should take time off when they

returned and she would replace her in the upcoming concert. It did not matter that she

still felt fine moving and dancing and had no restrictions from her doctor; she was being

replaced because her “condition” was too noticeable and distracting from the

choreography (Interviewee C).

I suggest that it takes a progressive and humble (for lack of a better word)

choreographer/director to allow a woman to continue to dance in a performing/touring

company through visible pregnancy. Humble might sound like strange word choice, but I

think it takes a lack of pride on the part of the choreographer to allow a visibly pregnant

dancer to continue, because the pregnant form could compete with the choreography.

Because it is such an anomaly, the pregnant dancer captures the eye and attention of the

audience and may eclipse the audience member’s focus on what the choreographer has
 61

created. If an audience member is drawn to the pregnant dancing form, they may spend

the remainder of the piece entranced by her, thinking “How is she doing that?” or “Is she

going to hurt the baby?” instead of what the choreographer may have intended.

As a performer, June Omura of the Mark Morris Dance Company had a desire to

deflect this potential. During Morris’ 25th Anniversary season Omura was five months

pregnant and performing the role of Juliet in his full-length work Romeo and Juliet, On

Motifs of Shakespeare. In an effort to conceal her pregnancy she wrapped her stomach in

an ace bandage. This was a personal decision, not one made or suggested by Morris or

company management. Out of respect, Omura was determined not to take away from

Morris’ choreography, acknowledging it was not fair to the audience to bring in a body

that conveys something different than the choreographer intended. She had a sincere

desire not to steal the thunder from Morris at this monumental anniversary and a pregnant

woman playing a virginal Juliet is certainly something worth noting.

Montreal Danse, a contemporary modern dance company in Canada, is one

exception to this ideology. Company director Kathy Casey allows her dancers to dance

pregnant as long as they feel comfortable doing so, and also allows them to take up to a

year off after the birth of the child. Many company members have danced up to their

eighth month of pregnancy, and there is even a pregnant dancer in one of the pieces on

their promotional video.19 This piece was not cast for a pregnant woman, the dancer just

happened to be pregnant at the time. Montreal Danse’s approach to dancers becoming

mothers is rare in the professional dance world.

19
Desirabilis by choreographer Karine Ponties.
 62

Sometimes “censorship” of the pregnant body is the result of company directors

who do not desire to have this body seen in their creative work. Other times it is a result

of an unspoken mentality that the decision to have a child is the decision to leave a

professional performing career. Multiple interviewees from The Paul Taylor Dance

Company experienced this. All left performing at around four months (the longest at six

months) mostly because that is what all of the pregnant dancers before them had done.

When Wood Saunders told Taylor that she was pregnant she was told she could not have

her job back, his reason being (interestingly similar to Interviewee B) that she would be

abandoning her child and therefore he would not hire her back. He kept her on part time

in the office and doing a little bit of teaching through the rest of her pregnancy, but held

an audition and replaced her. It is fascinating how directors and administrators try so

hard not to be the “bad guy”; it is difficult to admit head on the aesthetic challenge that

the pregnant body might bring to their artistic vision so they disguise their negativity with

what seems to me disingenuous personal concern.

Another Paul Taylor dancer, Denise Hurlin, had a similar experience. She said

that Taylor was very disappointed when she became pregnant and “did not see why I

would want to do such a thing when I still had years of dancing ahead of me.” He never

spoke of a desire for her to return to the company after the birth. Hurlin felt, “It was not

an option for me or anyone else for that matter.” Hurlin indicates that the trend in the

company was to dance until close to age forty and then retire before starting a family

(Hurlin). Both of these examples echo what many interviewees, including Oliver said,

that, “People pretend to value families and yet deem them inconvenient when you cannot

or choose not to perform in the way that one did prior to childbirth.”
 63

While Hurlin retired from professional performing to arts advocacy, Wood

Saunders was able to go to the board of directors and convince them and Taylor to allow

her to come back when her son was six months old (another dancer had retired). She

stayed for six months, through arduous tours with her baby in tow and tours where she

left him behind, as well as through the New York Spring Season of 1989. The toll of

scrambling for childcare (full time child care was out of the question financially) and a

feeling that “life had really moved on in a new direction” led her to leave the company

for good.

Omura is a rare example of a dancer in a high profile company who has been able

to maintain her performing career while having children. She had twin girls in 2003 and

a son in 2006. She said that Morris was astonished when she told him she was pregnant

with the twins and was a bit skeptical about her coming back after the birth, mostly

because no one ever wanted to before. She performed into her fourth month and taught

through the seventh month and was back to performing when her babies were four

months old. Omura’s experience is proof that it can be done, but that it is extremely rare.

Continuing to perform was possible because of many ideal circumstances, including a

director who was willing to work with her, a spouse that could work from home, and a

determination on her part to mediate any potential disruption. As the pioneer mother-

dancer in the company she felt a responsibility to be on her “best behavior” not to

compromise any future mothers the opportunity to try. She makes the important

distinction that although Morris was willing to work with her pregnancy and that he is

fond of children, he does not want anything to come before the company. After

becoming a mother Omura made sure to be on time and not to ask for special treatment if
 64

the children were sick. As long as there was no disruption to company business her

mothering was accepted.

Omura makes another crucial observation as to why she has been able to succeed

at combining both lives: “I probably wouldn't have been so determined [to return] if my

husband couldn't work from home--I never feel I am abandoning my children to go

rehearse, and any tours that are within driving distance, we all go, and he drives.” She

has also been able to bring her parents or siblings to care for the children on long distance

tours. I think this is why Omura has been successful where other high profile performers

have not been—finding and affording quality childcare are imperative to making this type

of career work.

Rachel Harris, of Montreal Danse, lives and works in Canada, which has an

accommodating attitude in general towards working mothers (socialized medicine20 and

government childcare assistance allow for this). Harris performed “up until six months”

and returned to performing “eight months after birth.” Before her baby became mobile

and too distracting she was allowed to bring her in to the studio for rehearsals. Kathy

Casey, director of Montreal Danse said that, “Montreal Danse has become a family

oriented group of people. Four of the seven dancers have children and so we easily

understand the challenges and needs that come with the combination of dance and

family.” Harris echoes this, but notes the reality of the economics; she says she receives

“a lot a moral support but no practical help” from her company. Harris writes of “one

company in Montreal that has recently begun paying the airfare and hotel for a second

person to accompany mothers who want to bring their small children on tour.” Harris

20
Everyone in Canada has national health insurance, which means that all medical visits and hospital stays
are free (Kathy Casey Q-50).
 65

says that her “employer would like to be as generous but, as every penny is counted, it is

not possible.”

Casey is as generous as funds allow; when a dancer takes time off to have a child

she hires someone to replace them. She notes that, “This can be a bit expensive, but it is

part of supporting the life choices of people in the company.” This is such a contrast to

the above examples of the anonymous dancers and the Paul Taylor Company dancers.

Casey’s attitude and example should be emulated; she is willing to work with dancers

because she “appreciates what a dancer brings to the company after a long association

and what having children can bring to her dancing.” To a director this body is more than

an altered form shifting the dynamics on stage; it symbolizes the shifting lifestyle of the

dancer. Not many directors acknowledge that this disruption can add greater depth to a

woman’s dancing.

Interviewee Marnie Wood had three children while dancing with the Martha

Graham Company in the 1960s. She says of the experience, “Outside influences didn’t

seem important at the time. In the dance scene, Martha Graham was known as a director

who was sympathetic to her dancers’ having children, and did not eliminate a dancer who

took time off to have a child.” I find this to be such a contrasting mentality to the

examples I have given of dancers in the late 20th and early 21st centuries. Wood taught

until five, three and a half, and nine months, respectively, with her successful

pregnancies, and was back performing at two months after birth with all three children.

Wood says that she “missed a season during each pregnancy but was always taken back

when ready.”
 66

I asked the interview participants how much time they were allowed to take off

after the birth of their children and Wood said, “It was not a question of ‘being allowed.’

There was no such thing as that in our day. You danced as long as possible and came

back as soon as possible and it was different with each of my children depending on how

difficult or easy the pregnancy was and what performances or teaching jobs I had to

interrupt.” I think this is a more holistic way of managing childbirth for dancers. It is

certainly a refreshing contrast to some of the other examples I have given. I wonder if

this is evidence of a different cultural environment. Wood had her children in the early

1960s; it was around this time that many significant events of the modern feminist

movement took place.

Joan Woodbury and Shirley Ririe were becoming mothers around the same time

as Wood, and I heard a similar theme from them: “We just made it work.” In the early

years of what would eventually become Ririe-Woodbury Dance Company there were

many dancers married with children and they all brought their children to rehearsal. Ririe

says the Salt Lake Tribune “took a photo during a rehearsal and there were fifteen little

children running around.” Interestingly, as a director of the company over forty-one

years after its founding, Ririe says of dancing and mothering today, “Unfortunately with

all the touring Ririe-Woodbury has had over our 41 years, the schedule of out of town

tours makes dancing with us and having children very difficult.” Not many women over

the years have danced with Ririe-Woodbury while having children. It is unfortunate that

women today are not afforded the flexibility they were as they were building the

company.
 67

I wonder if these women were at a crossroads in the history of feminism: they

came from a generation that saw motherhood (and multiple children) as a part of their

lives, and yet they were also afforded freedom through the feminist movement that

encouraged them to pursue their career ambitions. It was a unique time before

motherhood and the pursuit of a career became so complex both legally and in the

workplace. It seems ironic that women afforded the fullest benefit of the fruition of the

feminist movement seem to have a more difficult time negotiating these personal waters

than women who were mothering when modern feminism was still maturing. This is

merely speculation, but it would be another interesting avenue of research to pursue at a

later date.

It seems that there must be a perfect storm of circumstances to keep performing at

a high level after having children, including working with a company that values you

enough and has the economic ability to work with you; having the personal ability to

juggle the two very different lives; having a baby with a nature and temperament that

allows for flexibility; a willing spouse; being comfortable having your child in some form

of childcare; and having the financial ability to pay for childcare, to name a few. The

number of things that have to align are almost astronomical, which is why I think we do

not see more dancers in high profile companies who remain dancing professionally after

having children. Some interview participants suggested that pick-up style companies

allow for the kind of flexibility that women need in order to fulfill their roles as mothers.

Interviewee Rebecca Rigert was freelancing with several small companies at the time of

her pregnancy and found that most people were “extremely supportive and

accommodating.” They worked rehearsal schedules around her schedule and on tour she
 68

was “given special arrangements with hotels and cars to maneuver with a baby.” Angie

Banchero-Kelleher felt that “since pick-up companies are so popular now you will see

more and more women having children.”

It is true that working with pick-up companies provides more flexibility, but it

does not provide the pay and benefits available in larger more stable companies. There

are positives and negatives with each avenue; regardless, the lifestyle of a professional

dancer is rigorous, demanding, and not entirely conducive to caring for the needs of a

pregnant dancer or a young child. A woman who takes on both roles is engaging in a

juggling game that for some will compel retirement and a shift in professional direction.

Many of my interview participants shifted into academia or arts advocacy as a way to

combine dance and motherhood with more ease and support. Interviewee Wood

Saunders wondered if “…the possibility of children is built more easily into the world of

academics than the world of the performer. No touring, no performing, better benefits,

better pay, [and it is] easier to get subs.”

Dancing Towards Tenure

As with pregnancy and mothering in a performing career, levels of support in the

world of academia are similarly varied. Overall, the structure of an academic life is more

conducive to mothering when compared to the erratic life of touring and performing. The

hours have the potential to be more flexible, pregnancies can be potentially planned for

the summer when classes are not in session, and the pay and benefits are more stable.

And yet there are still challenges unique to the field. Once a position is secured, the

process of proving yourself for tenure begins. Certain levels of teaching, creating,
 69

presenting, and publishing are expected out of tenure-track hires, and the pressure to

fulfill expectations can be prohibitive to choosing to mother.

Some women in academia had extremely positive and supportive work

environments. Gail Abrams was able to work out her maternity leave schedule

completely to her “advantage and satisfaction both times.” Not only was she able to

continue teaching for as long as she felt comfortable, she was able to have a good amount

of time at home with her babies after they were born (four and a half months and nine

months, respectively). As she was working for a women’s college (Scripps College), her

supervisors made it very clear to her that it was important to send “a positive message

about attitudes toward family, not only to those who worked at the college but to the

students as well.”

Jane Hawley of Luther College also had an incredibly positive support system

from her department, but I found her experience to be quite the anomaly. Hawley

believes in integrating her infant or toddlers into her life style and arranged for her

children to be with her, either having a student or her husband to assist. She admits that

her “department is highly unusual with support for” her desire to mother her “children

and remain a teacher/educator/artist.” The college has even allowed her to stay on a

tenure-track line even though she has not been teaching full-time. This kind of

progressive treatment is remarkable and worth considering for those in administration. It

is one thing to have support, i.e., trying to mediate a woman’s pregnancy to a net-neutral

for the department (attempting to schedule a birth so it does not disrupt the academic

year, etc.), but it is entirely another to make short-term accommodations that treat
 70

working mothers as a long-term asset to the department. In my opinion both of these

models are worth emulating.

Interviewees Joan Woodbury and Shirley Ririe helped establish the dance

department at the University of Utah. As I referenced in “Performing the Divide” they

danced and mothered in a different era, one potentially more flexible because there were

no examples to follow. Joan was teaching at the University before moving to Germany

for a year to study with Mary Wigman on a Fullbright Scholarship. Woodbury asked

Ririe to take her position while she was away. When Woodbury returned, both women

had a young child and as Woodbury recounts, “…the two of us went hand in hand to the

President of the University to ask if we could job share. It had never been done before.

And he let us do it.” They job-shared this way for eight years before both were hired

officially full-time in 1962. Ririe reflects on their unique experience: “When I compare

what we got away with and other University situations, I think we were very lucky and

our administration was forward thinking.” As Joan writes thoughtfully, “…but it was a

different time and I think we were a different breed of women in those times, and thought

we could do it all.”

It is unfortunate that we do not see this kind of flexibility during the early

mothering years. Careers are seen too linearly; the tendency is to perform as long as

possible before transitioning in to academia, and then establish oneself and get tenure,

and then sneak a pregnancy in before biology dictates otherwise. June Omura and Lisa

Race’s experience of having a “desperate hope that it was not too late” (Omura), and a

“…now or never timing!” (Race) were echoed in other interviewees, as compared to Joan

and Shirley who were able to find a way to let both unfold together.
 71

Janice Haws Roberts was able to bring her first child to school often. Her

daughter slept under her desk at times and she had various babysitters so she could nurse

when needed. Similarly, at the birth of her first child Heidi Henderson was teaching at a

small college and she was allowed to have the baby in the studio/classroom with her.

Later, while teaching at a different college she said she “wanted to get established not as

a mom first” because she heard some difficulty a previous faculty member had with the

department chair. Now she feels that she can bring her children in sometimes but she is

“very careful not to use them as an excuse for her [the department chair] to say she is not

doing her job.”

This is a fascinating idea, one that interviewee Donna White echoed as well,

saying she has “been very careful not to expect special treatment.” I find this interesting

because it plays into what Helena Kennedy said above, that women “fear that to concede

that there are emotional pulls or practical complications will be used against us”

(Kennedy 1989, 7). Interviewee Kristi Burns noted a similar mindset saying she does not

feel free to “discuss home life with colleagues who can use that information against you,”

and even said that other faculty members had discouraged her from having more than one

child. Burns noted how her pregnancy affected her relationship with some in the

department. She found, “a lot of exclusion, unscientific based fears, lack of knowledge

and even disgust” from faculty members and peers that she felt on good terms with prior

to her pregnancy. Some were so disturbed they would not even say hello to her.

In 1988 interviewee Gigi Arrington was teaching at a university when her first

child was born (due in the middle of the semester). When she went to her division chair

to talk about maternity leave (no official leave was provided at the time) the supervisor
 72

was reluctant to work with her. Arrington was able to find people to cover for her for

three weeks, but the chair was reluctant to allow for any more because “…more than that

might have drawn attention to the special needs of female teachers…” Cynthia Oliver

wrote of this frustration saying that resistance from administrators angers her,

“particularly because this is a field populated mostly by women.” Oliver feels it is

unfortunate that “women, and mothers especially, are not as accommodating as they

could be…”

Oliver and Cathy Allen had very different experiences than Hawley or Abrams.

Oliver was officially allowed two weeks paid maternity leave with potentially another ten

weeks unpaid (as dictated by the FMLA). There is a “provision in the University By-

Laws that allows professors to have a full semester off provided the department chair

agrees,” but Oliver’s chair insisted that they needed her. This required Oliver to use her

sick leave, which she theoretically resented “because pregnancy and childbirth are not

sickness.” Her department chair also assumed that Oliver would teach until labor started,

which Oliver refused. After birth Oliver was allowed to cluster her classes the semester

she returned to minimize her time away from her child (she and her husband decided

against using childcare services for their son for the first year). But when she requested

clustering of classes again the next semester it fell in direct conflict with how the

department chair wanted to proceed for the year. The department chair “even suggested

daycare as a solution for her problem.”

Cathy Allen also experienced resistance in her department. During her third and

last pregnancy she went to the department chair to discuss altering her schedule. She was

having pregnancy related issues with her sciatic nerve that made teaching technique
 73

difficult. The chair told her, “…pregnancy shouldn’t get in the way of job performance.”

She reluctantly conceded to accommodate only after Allen reminded her that she had

never “taken maternity leave nor stopped dancing, performing, teaching or

choreographing on any other pregnancy or miscarriage” and that she did not believe she

could challenge the upper-level students the way they should be challenged. As the only

member of her department with family obligations Allen says she “can tell [her

colleagues] sense that as a weakness professionally.” As a result Allen worked for many

years beyond where she felt comfortable in order to deflect any perceived potential

disruption her pregnancies or mothering may cause. She says she used to “teach,

choreograph, and rehearse for performances seven days a week and late into the night”

until she “finally had enough and mustered the strength to say NO.”

With the birth of her fourth child Gill Wright Miller only took ten days leave and

upon returning worked forty hours a week even though she was supposed to be working

part-time. She recalls the time as “brutal” and reflects in retrospect that she should have

argued better for herself and demanded the six-weeks paid leave and part-time work the

remainder of the semester that she was entitled to, but she says, “I just feared threatening

my tenure decision by doing that. So I didn’t.” Author Rachel Hile Bassett explores the

complexities of parenting in the university in Parenting and Professing and calls this

common behavior “discrimination avoidance” (Hile Bassett 2005, 5). Women feel

compelled to render their mothering invisible in order to mediate any perceived

disruption at work. As de Wet, Ashley, and Kegel write, “The present time frame for

achieving tenure and promotion was established by men, for men, decades ago. Such a

time frame is incompatible with women’s biologic reproductive constraints, and as such,
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puts an unequal level of pressure and stress on women relative to their male professional

counterparts.” (de Wet, Ashley, and Kegel 2002, 1) As discussed above, “At first glance

it would appear that academia is one of the best professional environments for bearing

and raising children…yet, female academics have the highest rate of childlessness among

professionals, at 43 percent” (Schweitzer and Stephenson 2006, n.p.).

As Pattison, Gross, and Cast write, “pregnancy is a powerful souvenir of

home life” and may be seen as “a ‘pollution’ of work with home” (Pattison,

Gross, and Cast 1997, 304). After birth, mothering becomes the souvenir of home

life and many women try to mediate this souvenir. Helena Kennedy reflects about

working mothers:

Women with children, I realized, compartmentalize their domestic and public

lives. The unspoken rule is never to mix the two, or invoke one in aid of the
other. The image of the capable woman must never be tainted by the smell of
baby powder; efficient women have that side of their lives kept well under
control. Motherhood is like some skeleton kept in the cupboard and most of us
collaborate in keeping our children invisible. We have the terrible fear that to
concede that there are emotional pulls or practical complications will be used
against us. (Kennedy 7)

However, there is an interesting and disturbing double standard that work life will

and should permeate the home life. Allen is the only member of her department

with children and she felt the pressure to perform as though she did not have

children. These examples highlight the dilemma mothers in academia encounter.

They do not want their pregnancy and mothering to be seen as a liability or to ask

for special concessions for which other faculty (especially male faculty) will not

have to ask, and yet their situations clearly warrant special consideration for a

time. Kristi Burns noted a similar pressure saying: “…everyone is constantly

working eighty hour work weeks and trying to prove that they do more than
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anyone else in the department.” Rebecca Phillips noted a desire to deflect or

mask her mother-self because she felt that professional artists would not value her

as a competent professional, that they would see her as a mother instead of an

artist, professor, and director.

Hillary Cunningham critiques this privatization of motherhood and wryly writes

that, “Motherhood, like exercising, is now something that women do on their own

time… preferably in ways that don’t interfere with work routines” (Cunningham 14). As

evidenced by many of my interviewees, women in both performing and academia feel a

pull to compartmentalize or compromise their mothering in order to look the part.

Some participants balanced the two worlds by teaching part-time. Susan McClain

made a conscious decision to work part-time during the first ten years of her daughter’s

life and felt good about her career taking a back seat to her mothering responsibilities.

Interviewee Julie Robinson, who received her M.F.A. and performed professionally for

one year before choosing to devote herself to mothering, said she does not feel that she

can give the kind of time that such a rigorous career requires, and eloquently writes about

her decision: “I want to experience my children’s childhood along with them, even more

than I want to dance.” She has taught part-time in the university setting off and on while

birthing and raising five children, but overall has chosen to stay at home more than teach.

She says of the decision, “Gradually I had to ask myself if it was worth it to me to leave

my own children to teach someone else’s. It just wasn’t.”

Arrington regrets that she did not enjoy her children’s infancies as much as she

should have because she was so concerned about getting back to her career. She wanted

to be ready for any opportunity that came her way, but she finally realized, “…that
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although I loved my children dearly, motherhood was challenging for me and something I

was not going to be able to successfully blend with a full-time career. Each successive

child helped me realize that it was a gift to be home with them and I could worry about

the dancing later.” Other interviewees expressed some amount of regret in regard to

missing out on portions of their children’s young lives. Some felt a lot of private guilt,

and others less so, chalking it up to the cost of a career, but it is unfortunate that there are

not more flexible career paths afforded to working mothers to mediate the amount of

stress and guilt.

All of these examples show that there are many ways to choreograph a life. I, like

Robinson, will choose to be the primary caregiver and presence in my child’s life. That

means that I will not be as involved in dance, whether teaching or performing, as I would

be otherwise. I hope that institutions and individuals will support women who choose to

work part-time. The woman who chooses to work part-time and to devote a majority of

her time to mothering should not be considered less of an artist, and should be supported

more fully by institutions because “the overlap in biological and professional imperatives

lasts for only a minor portion of a women’s life, perhaps only six years out of a thirty-

five-year career” (de Wet, Ashley, and Kegel 3). If a woman can be afforded some

flexibility in the years when her children are young she can eventually contribute to the

department more fully as her children grow. Respect should be given to the many

possible variations of working and mothering.

I choose to stay at home exclusively and I make this choice consciously and

gladly. As a result of not being involved with a particular institution I create my own

level of involvement that fulfills me personally rather than fulfills the needs of a
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department or company. I worked as an independent artist with a fellow dancer to create

and produce a duet that I performed when my son was ten months old, and I took a

technique workshop to remind me of what it feels like to dance and move again. To

some, this might be a frustrating and unfulfilled artistic existence, but it is the life I

choose, and it suits me well.

Childcare: The Elephant in the Room

Related to flexibility in early mothering is what I consider the elephant in the

room, childcare. With all of these women giving birth and classes being taught,

choreography created, and performing done, where are all of the children? The choice to

become a mother and continue working also requires finding and affording quality

childcare. Some women such as Robinson, McClaine, Arrington, Fiat and myself choose

to work part-time or not at all during the infant and toddler years, but a majority of the

women in my interviews did return to work shortly after birth, either out of personal

desire, lack of flexible options, financial necessity or some combination of the three.

Some, like Wood Saunders “scrambled for babysitters seemingly incessantly for years”

as “full time childcare was out of the question financially.” Rachel Harris has a nanny

come to her house, which works well for mother and child, but it also means “half of

[her] salary is going to childcare.” Marni Wood often “found dance students who needed

support and provided weekly classes in exchange for babysitting” but noted “It was

always a difficult and constantly changing situation. It never was an easy arrangement or

a very settled one.”

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As with many dancers Rebecca Rigert was involved in multiple part-time

endeavors at once. She says of her foray into motherhood, “I felt such an intense need to

be there for her, to feed her (I was breastfeeding) and to be the one to nurture her –

probably a very common issue with first-time mothers.” As a result she tried to arrange

her schedule to be with her daughter “…as much as possible while still being able to

work part time and go to school21.” Now that her daughter is older she tries to get as

much…” work and schooling done while she [her daughter] is in school herself, and then

have plenty of time with her so she feels that she is not being raised by a babysitter.”

Regardless of the degree to which a woman returns to work, childcare will be an

important part of life for working mothers. Unfortunately the United States is one of the

few industrialized countries that does not provide paid leave for new mothers nationally.

To put it in perspective, out of 168 nations in a 2004 Harvard University study “163 had

some form of paid maternity leave, leaving the United States in the company of Lesotho,

Papua New Guinea and Swaziland” (Geissler, Jeff, 2005). With social and economic

support lacking on a national level, professional companies and academic institutions do

not have incentive to be overly accommodating to new mothers. It is a financial strain

for institutions to support new mothers and often they do not have the resources or

choose not to have the resources to be supportive. Professional dancers are often not paid

enough to afford quality childcare. Angie Banchero-Kelleher was unable to arrange what

she felt was quality childcare and eventually had to quit performing professionally for a

21
Interestingly, I did not ask any questions about breastfeeding in my interviews and only a few people
mentioned it. After having my own child and realizing what an important and time consuming part of
motherhood nursing is for me I would have asked a question about it in my interviews. I feel very
strongly about breastfeeding my baby, and not just pumping and giving him my milk, but actually
nursing him myself, as a result I have not been able to do much outside of the home his first year of life.
It would be interesting to see if women who went back to work full-time chose not to breastfeed, or only
breastfeed for a short period of time, or to pump.
 79

time. Denise Hurlin’s experience was similar; she had to leave performing behind as

dancing, earning a living and taking care of the children conflicted.

The process of becoming a mother can be one of the most dramatic shifts in

identity a woman will experience. It is difficult enough to negotiate the personal waters

surrounding the care and nurture of children, and it is extremely unfortunate that social

policies and institutions are not as accommodating as they could be. As Emily Martin

writes in The Woman in the Body: A Cultural Analysis of Reproduction, “…lack of

institutional support in the United States makes it very difficult for women to be whole

people—productive and reproductive--- at the same time” (Martin 2001, 100-1).

With a scarcity of performing and teaching positions that pay enough to

comfortably support oneself, let alone a family, professional companies are not inclined

to be accommodating to women who desire to start a family. As one interviewee put it,

“…there are so many good women dancers that I think companies would not want to deal

with the possible hazards of performing while pregnant” (Haws Roberts). The reality for

all women is that the prime years for building a career and for childbearing and rearing

coincide. As a result dancing women have some important choices to make; a few

choose to have children earlier and pare back on performing and teaching in order to

focus on their family for a time, many choose to wait until the later edge of potential

child bearing years so as to accomplish as much as possible before children arrive, and a

very few are lucky enough to do both simultaneously.

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‘Ripe:’ Birthing a Creative Endeavor

For my creative project I created a dance film featuring the highly pregnant body.

My goal was to give sight and visual space to this body, which is not often seen in

performance dance. I worked in the medium of film because film gives visibility,

permanence, portability, and longevity to a body that is extremely temporary and often

not seen on the stage. Prior to this film, I experimented with pregnant dancers multiple

times in more informal and improvisational ways for various projects during my graduate

course work. One dancer with whom I worked, Rebecca Phillips, had an incredibly

difficult pregnancy and I thought her story could be part of an interesting creative project

for my thesis. I wanted to use a theatrical element that would reference the womb, so we

filmed inside of a giant muslin tent. The light from the studio and outside windows

coming through the fabric was reminiscent of the famous in-utero photos A Child is Born

by Lennart Nilsson.

Due to liver complications from the pregnancy Phillips suffered terrible itching,

and other frustrating physical problems. We decided to capitalize on her experience and

created a black mesh tent within the muslin tent, and tentatively called the piece The

Dark Year. At first she danced inside the small black tent, eventually breaking out of it,

tearing the tulle as she danced, using frantic/erratic movement, to reference the itching

and out of control nature of her changing body. Because of time constraints she

improvised while I filmed. I think it was a cathartic experience for her to dance out her

difficulties and frustrations, but in the end the footage was not polished enough to use for

a thesis project. I was frustrated that I had to create a new project from scratch in a very

short period of time, but the impetus created a more refined and interesting film.
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Ripe features four female dancers all in different phases of life, Kathie Debenham,

a mother and grandmother; Julie Robinson a mother of three (now five) children who had

just given birth three months earlier and spent the day nursing her baby in between takes;

Ruth Robbins who was eight months pregnant at the time of filming; and Kelby

Debenham, a recently engaged woman. I chose to feature Robbins in the company of

other women for two reasons, one a result of the other. Primarily, I felt awkward

presenting Robbins alone (for multiple reasons I will discuss further) and as a result

wanted to find a way to frame her with other dancers that tied in to her pregnancy.

Showing her alongside women in various phases of life references the way that mothers

relate to each other. Pregnancy, birth, and becoming a mother are rites of passage that

change one in a way that few other experiences do, and in a way that allows one to relate

to others who have experienced them. Since I have become a mother myself I have

experienced these rites firsthand. Going through the learning curve of the first year of

life I see my mother through new eyes, especially in moments of difficultly or frustration.

I have called my mother on multiple occasions to say “Thank you” for doing for me what

I am now doing for my son. I also find that I relate more to friends who have children;

we have so much more in common especially now that I have a child.

I found myself hesitant to feature Robbins alone in part because of my own

anxieties. Knowing that she would be up there on the screen mainly because she was

pregnant made me apprehensive about possibly exploiting or prostituting her pregnant

form. Even though I really want the pregnant body to be seen more readily in dance

settings, I felt a little guilty presenting her just to present her; I wondered if it was a little

like a circus or a freak show? —“Step right up! Come see this pregnant woman dance!”
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In reference to this point of confusion one of my thesis committee members asked

me in retrospect, “How is this different than being an extension of the regular practice of

casting dancers according to their physiques, abilities and a general sense that they offer

something unique to a production?” I had not thought about it that way, and in many

ways it is not different. I chose Robbins for her pregnancy in a way that I might choose

another dancer for her expressive qualities or extension. Looking back I did not have the

artistic maturity to see my subject in this way. I had I have a feeling I would have cast

the piece as a solo for Robbins. But I made the choice with the ability I had at the time,

and to find a balance I created the two sections. The first section features all four women

dancing together and the second section features Robbins alone. I feel this is fitting

because regardless of the support from a spouse, family or friends, giving birth is a

primal, solo performance.

I wanted to create a setting with symbolism and aesthetic interest. We filmed

inside of a small black-box theater; the lighting created a warm womb-like cocoon of

space to dance through. The edges of our “stage” were created as the light gently found

the darkness. Referencing the visceral nature of birth the women were costumed in

shades of deep pink and red. As a theatrical and symbolic element I created a surface of

rich, dark, heavy dirt. I felt its reference to Mother Earth, fertility, growth, and new-life

were fitting for the subject matter.

While an interesting artistic tool, working with the dirt was complicated. First, it

was December in Utah and the ground was frozen; second, quality top soil not filled with

rocks and burrs would be too expensive to purchase; and third, it was virtually impossible

to work with the dirt prior to the filming because it was too heavy to transport and too
 83

messy to work with in a rented studio setting. I was able to “borrow” two city garbage

containers full of dirt from the garden patch of a total stranger. I was driving down the

street one day and saw a large pile of dirt in someone’s side yard. I pulled over, knocked

on the door, and asked the man if I could borrow his dirt. He hesitantly said yes to my

curious request, but only allowed me to borrow it for the day of filming.

It was a huge undertaking to get the dirt in the containers, get the containers to the

film site, dump the dirt without ruining the floor, use the dirt without making the space

too dirty, and clean it up all before 5:00 PM, but it was worth it because of the

environment that it created for the film. My only regret is that we could not have worked

with the dirt beforehand. It would have been satisfying to have time to fully experiment

with its choreographic possibilities. I am sure the piece would have been drastically

different if we had time to generate movement while working with dirt instead of just

applying the choreography on top of the soil surface.

The Film

A haunting solo female voice. Darkness. A slow fade up and zoom in on an alien

dirt-landscape dappled in shadowy light. Zooming in close on the texture of the dirt,

cross-fade to a dancer stepping into the frame, the camera focused on her feet. The

camera pans to follow her movement out and back to the same place she started; a new

dancer steps in to the frame. With each pan of the camera a new dancer is added until

there are four. The next shot reveals the dancers faces, and eventually a pan of their

midsections reveals Robbins’ round eight-month pregnant belly.

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This first section is set to Persian instrumental and vocal music that drives the

film. Swooping, scooping, carving, unison, canon, duets, quartets, and solos; the

individual movement sections are interwoven through quick edits that layer sections of

multiple movement segments into each other. In this section the women dance on top of

the dirt, but do not dance with or interact intentionally with it. I tried to create a sense of

community with this section, but in retrospect I do not feel that this feeling comes

through as much as I would have liked. I did not want the section to come across as a

communal celebration of Robbins’ pregnancy that may seem trite, and as a result I think I

went too far and did not create enough of a connection between the women. It is almost a

bit too much like they are women that just happen to be dancing together, and one of

them just happens to be pregnant. I think this is evidence of my ambivalence towards

how I wanted to portray Robbins as a pregnant dancer in the first place. After this

reflective research, I feel that I could find more clarity in my intent.

As the section comes to a close the nonpregnant dancers begin to peel off and the

second section begins with Robbins alone, carving her body through the space into the

earth. Her solo is quiet and meditative; she is more fluid and indulgent. There is a

contemplative nature to her movement and expression. She begins in silence, quietly

exploring the earth. We hear the haunting solo female voice again, a cappella. She

bathes herself in the dirt, pouring the dirt over her belly, caressing her belly, reveling in

her fertile moment. She has a curiosity about the dirt that I think references the curious

nature of this unique experience. The dirt marks her skin, much like the experience of

birth marks the psyche. She seems confident and vulnerable at the same time, something

I think many first time mothers experience; for as much as you read about giving birth
 85

and raising children it is truly unknowable until you experience it for yourself. As the

film comes to a close she is lying down, covered in dirt, growing into the earth, becoming

a part of the circle of life. The last shot zooms out slowly, leaving her in a quiet womb-

like space, and then fades to dark.

Reflection

Through the editing process with my thesis committee they found contradiction in

some of the words I used to describe the film. In an earlier draft I described the music in

the solo section as “almost ethereal, like the experience of pregnancy itself.” They

questioned this wordage as out of character to the critical perspective laid out in the

earlier chapters. Upon reflection this is absolutely true. This ethereality is a myth that is

widely represented in our culture, so my attempted participation in the myth is curious. I

think what I really meant is that pregnancy is so othering, it is a finite experience that

does set you apart for a time. Much of what I see in my film that is evocative of the

myths I am trying to break down is there because these myths are a pervasive part of our

subconscious cultural psyche; at the time that I created the film I was not as aware of how

these myths affected me. I had not deconstructed how powerful glossy and contained

bodies are at creating and maintaining myths that support financial and artistic control.

My critical eye towards the cultural presentation of the pregnant body in media and in

dance was not fully refined, and that is reflected in the film.

The major hindrance to fulfilling my creative vision for all of the projects upon

which I have worked with pregnant dancers (both the informal assignments and this final

thesis project) was feeling inhibited by my lack of personal experience with the subject.
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At the time I created my film I was just beginning my thesis research and knew

something about peripheral aspects of dancing pregnant, but my experience was limited

to conjecture. I had yet to gather the interview responses and had yet to experience

pregnancy myself. I felt my lack of phenomenological perspective made me unqualified

to choreograph for a pregnant woman. I was afraid to make a statement of my own

because the dancer was the one with the first-hand knowledge. I felt like I was imposing

if I asked the dancer to choreograph for me so we worked improvisationally. What I

ended up creating as my final approved project was somewhere in between; I

choreographed the group section and left Robbins’ solo to a guided improvisation; this

was partly due to time constraints and partly due to my apprehension.

I was also plagued by questions of contextualization. Does the movement

somehow have to be about motherhood or the experience of pregnancy if a highly

pregnant dancer is featured? Do I make a stronger statement if the movement is not

trying to be “about” motherhood? If one’s choreographic inspiration is not necessarily

about pregnancy can you avoid it? Does it become the unintended focus, especially if a

dancer is working as a soloist? Could I just make a dance on a dancer who happens to be

pregnant? This last one especially seemed contradictory for me since I was intentionally

trying to feature a pregnant dancer. I do not feel that a dance with a pregnant dancer has

to be about pregnancy, but I do feel that this body is so highly contextualized that the

pregnancy cannot be avoided. I would assume, especially for dance film, that if a

choreographer was working with a dancer who became pregnant they would film before

the pregnancy was visible or after birth because of the loaded nature of the pregnant
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form. If the piece is not intentionally about pregnancy it is easier to convey intent

without an othered body competing for attention.

In Ripe my main intent was to show a highly pregnant dancer moving capably.

The choreography itself was not necessarily trying to convey something about pregnancy;

it was merely a vehicle to show the pregnant body as able. One committee member

pointed out how interesting this desire was, since I did have a definite point of view or

perception about pregnancy coming through other aspects of the film such as the

costumes, lighting, and dirt. Committee members also noted a romantic tone I use to

describe the film and some of my choices in the film.

My first instinct to these critiques is a blush of embarrassment that I could not see

the contradiction in my choices, but on further reflection, I see that I made choices that

were appropriate and grounded in my experience at the time. With distance I see that my

artistic choices and even language choices may come off as dreamy or romantic, but that

actually speaks to who I was in that moment. In a way, the film spoke to my desires. I

always knew I would be a mother, and during my last year of graduate school my

thoughts were often geared towards wanting a child and wondering when I should have

one. If my dreamy outlook seems incongruous to the analytical perspective I have put

forth in my written thesis it speaks to the tension I felt at the time towards this life choice

and to my naiveté about what parenting really means. The prospect of being a mother

seemed “dreamy” at the time. I did not understand the vicissitudes of mothering and how

drastically my entire life, identity, priorities, and even sense of time would change. It is

not something I can really be embarrassed about because being a mother is something

you cannot understand until you become one. No matter how much babysitting you have
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done, or how much you think you like children, or how good an aunt or godmother you

are, nothing compares to the responsibility you feel when you bring a new life into the

world.

Looking back I do have regrets about some aspects of the film, most notably

having Robbins improvise during the second section, but the regrets serve as more of a

teaching tool for future projects. I should have allowed myself to be more authoritative

and created what I really wanted to create. If I were to do it again I would set the

movement with more clarity and intent. Because my intent was not to convey something

about pregnancy other than to feature it, I could have choreographed something for

Robbins’ solo that would have featured her more articulately, and now having

experienced pregnancy and birth myself I might even be interested in exploring those

experiences through movement.

In the end, I feel the film is better than I expected and if time had not been so

pressing I see things I would have done differently. From concept to filming, Ripe was

put together in three weeks during the last weeks of the semester. As with many creative

projects it is difficult to see what it is until it is finished, and until one has some distance

from it. In the case of my film it would have been impossible to reshoot or retool

anything given the setup required and that Robbins was so close to giving birth.

Unfortunately I was not able to attend the Graduate Student Concert when Ripe

was screened, as I was living out of the country. I would have liked to be there to get a

sense of audience reaction, and/or to hear what people had to say afterwards. I was able

to have the film shown at another university’s summer projects concert. That was
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gratifying and important to see the film in a formal setting, on a large screen, even if it

was not at the official venue.

One of the reasons that I had a hard time approaching the pregnant body is

because, as Musial says, it is a “both/and as opposed to an either/or” (Musial iii) body. It

is both endearing and repulsive in the same moment, maybe even to the same person. I

have experienced this myself. As someone studying this form, I have been surprised at

my own discomfort at times. Sometimes when I see the highly pregnant body I think it is

strange and wonder why I feel pressed to make it more public. It is an altered shape and

so drastically different from traditional dancing bodies. I even felt this in moments of my

thesis film, especially seeing it on a full-screen. Some moments I found myself in awe of

Robbins’ facility and range even in such a pregnant state, and other moments I found

myself thinking I had exposed too much. It was somewhat strange seeing the film on a

large screen. Robbins’ costume allowed some of her belly to be seen and on the small

screen it seemed inconsequential, but seeing a four-foot wide pregnant belly even made

me feel uncomfortable at times, not because her belly should not be shown, but because I

made that choice for Robbins. There is a sense of intimacy and tenderness as Robbins

dances solo and at times and I wondered had I made too public that which was private?

In some ways I felt strange because the film almost felt like propaganda; I had a

captive audience, I forced the audience to look at this dancing body that they might

otherwise never see on stage/film, let alone consider able or beautiful in motion. It

scared me for a moment to have that much power and I wondered if I should have done

it. But that in and of itself shows that I should. I like that my film forces viewers to

confront a body they would not normally see dancing and one they may not ever choose
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to see dancing. Even if my film does not show a pregnant body doing intentionally

subversive movement, I think it does highlight that it can be a highly able body which

can overthrow and undermine culturally accepted ideals about acceptable dancing bodies.

In speaking with Robbins after the showing (roughly seven months after giving

birth to her daughter) I found her response similarly surprising to my own. Robbins said

she felt shocked at first. The mental image she had of herself dancing while she was

pregnant was so different than she actually looked she didn’t think it was her. She

wondered, “How can my body be doing that? I shouldn’t be doing that.” I find that

incredibly fascinating. To me it speaks to how powerfully entrenched cultural ideals are

that associate pregnancy with dis-ability; even the dancer herself, watching as a non-

pregnant dancer, felt that what she did was out of the ordinary even when it did not feel

extraordinary at the time.

I have shown the film informally to friends and family (generally a nondance

population) and have been fascinated at people’s responses. One experience in particular

demonstrates the subversive nature of this body and why I feel the work I am doing is

important. I had moved to a new area and was at some new acquaintances’ house for

dinner. While introducing ourselves the subject of my thesis came up. These people

were in no way dance enthusiasts, or even necessarily involved in the arts, but were

interested in the subject matter when I told them what my research was about. As I told

them about my film, the man asked if he could see it. I had posted the film to my website

and we had an impromptu showing. I wish I had had a tape recorder running to capture

his response.
 91

As described above, Robbins’ pregnant belly is not revealed immediately; first

feet, then heads, then bellies. Once Robbins’ belly was revealed they found it difficult to

find words to describe how they were feeling. “Crazy” was the first thing out of their

mouths. As the film went on the man said, “I felt like she was going to rip into two!” He

could not believe that someone so obviously pregnant could move with such ability. The

two ideas were colliding violently in his mind; the image in his mind of the un-able

fragile pregnant body was being overhauled before his eyes. The stereotype was

hijacked. In some way this is what I love about my film. I think if I were to do it again

or if I ever make another film with a pregnant dancer I would make it more shocking. I

would create a work with a lot of physicality, athleticism and strength to really

demonstrate the ability of this body and to really contrast the image of the burdened,

awkward pregnant form. I figure instead of making a more timid statement, which I did

with Ripe, I would emphasize the difference instead of gloss over it. Since this body is

already startling, why not capitalize on it?

Since creating Ripe I have thought of multiple possibilities for another film with a

pregnant dancer. One would involve filming once a month for eight months, with the

same setting, costume, lighting, and movement. Edits from each successive month would

be used so that slowly over the course of the film the woman’s pregnancy becomes

noticeable. Another idea is similar but more drastic to the slow reveal in Ripe. I would

film the movement in close ups that break up the body, starting tight, getting more mid-

range, and eventually far enough away to see the body as a whole. I think drawing the

audience in with intensely physical, athletic movement before the belly is seen would

help affirm the facile nature of the pregnant body once it is revealed. And, as mentioned
 92

earlier, now that I have experienced pregnancy and birth myself I would be interested in

exploring these themes as impetus for creative projects and movement, this time owning

this intent as opposed to trying to dance my way around it as I did with Ripe.
 OTHER WORKS

I tried to find other works featuring pregnant dancers or about the subject of

pregnancy or motherhood. I found references or revues of a few works, but overall found

very little reference to this subject matter, and few more still that I could access and view.

A revue of Canadian choreographer Karen Kaeja’s work “Poached Savannah,” writes that

the piece is a “love letter from Kaeja to her children, inspired by the choreographer’s

changing body during her second pregnancy” (Todd 1998). I also found a Los Angeles

Times review of Los Angeles based choreographer Laura Gorenstein Miller’s “The

Quickening.” The title refers to “the stage of pregnancy when the fetus can be felt

moving” and for the choreographer “is also a metaphor for the charged emotions a

woman feels trying to juggle career, family, and everything in between” (Looseleaf

2003, E.6). Seeing that some choreographers are empowered to explore themes of

motherhood and pregnancy is encouraging. I would assume that there are more works

regarding this subject, but these are the few to which I had access.

Choreographer Jody Oberfelder has used life and her experience with pregnancy

and mothering as inspiration for multiple dances and dance films. As she thoughtfully

muses, “…having kids was an identity issue, as well as a feminist issue, and so became

an artistic issue. Beginning with my own body transforming into a rounded, weighted

dancer, the shape shifting of pregnancy crept into my dance-making, I knew I had to

make art out of the body and art out of my life” (Oberfelder 2010, n.p.). She has created
 94

multiple works featuring pregnant dancers and the subject of motherhood,22 two featuring

pregnant dancers in films. “Duet” features Oberfelder herself nude and in a highly

pregnant state. With a score of a fetal heartbeat “Duet,is an intimate view of a woman

and her unborn child. The piece captures the temporal aspects of pregnancy, its luscious

physicality, and animal qualities” (Jody Oberfelder Dance Projects 2010, n.p.). “Rapt” is

a visually beautiful piece that features a very pregnant woman underwater in a swimming

pool. She is wrapped in a long sheath of deep red fabric that unfurls as the piece unfolds.

The watery environment and the trailing red fabric are reminiscent of the world of the

unborn child and the process of birth. I have also found record of, but have not seen,

another Oberfelder work called “Rock Me Mama,” which features pregnant women and

mothers dancing with their infants. I applaud Oberfelder for featuring the highly

pregnant form and for finding forums to expand the sight of this unique and temporary

site. I hope that more dancing women feel the ability to create choreographic work

featuring issues related to pregnancy, birth and motherhood, and that this body and

experience become less of an anomaly and more of an extraordinary, yet accessible part

of life. Additionally, I hope that when women do make work involving pregnancy

and/or motherhood that it is recorded and more easily accessible in the records of dance

so that they do not become like the experience of pregnancy itself; fleeting and

impermanent.

22
“Mother Other,” a dance with her five-year-old daughter another five-year-old and and her mother.
“Expectant Tango,” a dance for eight pregnant women in red dresses. “Rock Me Mama,” a dance
incarnated multiple times with varying numbers in the cast, featuring mothers and fathers with their young
babies and toddlers. Most recently this piece will be performed will alumni from previous casts, this time
as mothers with their now teenage children.
 CONCLUSION

Historically, differences between men and women, often signaled by differences

in anatomy, were used to marginalize women. Women and their procreative powers were

viewed with suspicion. While the Women’s Movement and Feminist theorists have done

much to tackle “the history of exclusions, erasures, and other absences of female

identity” (Balsam 1153), modern society has continued to shackle the female form with

superficial idealistic physical expectations. Women have complied with their own

shackling and the shackling of others. Because the pregnant body does not fit neatly into

discourses such as “beautiful bodies” or “bodies that matter” it is usually presented in

highly controlled and prescribed ways to legitimize its presence (i.e., through maternity

clothing, or in maternity specific magazines).

The pregnant form has remained at the periphery in theory, media, and dance. As

Matthews and Wexler point out, “feminist work on the representations of the female body

almost entirely disregarded the pregnant female body while available images of the

pregnant body seemed divorced from feminist insight” (Matthews and Wexler xiii). I see

this avoidance as well, especially as it relates to dance. Gender and feminist studies are

highly explored in dance criticism, and yet the experience of pregnancy has been mostly

absent from this highly female-dominated field.

Jennifer Musial identifies why this body inspires confusion: “Because

pregnant corporealities disturb the traditional boundaries of physical space as well

as confuse the self/other and public/private binaries pregnancy is a subversive

bodily state. This transgressive corporeality causes cultural anxiety because it resists

definition and homogeneity” (Musial iii). The pregnant form inspires anxiety within the

greater cultural realm, and as a featured, moving, and framed body displayed for public

consumption, this body is potentially disturbing. Raegan Wood Saunders wrote that

although there is an occasional piece done with and about pregnant women, she sensed,

“…for the most part it [the pregnant body] is definitely something, a look, that should be

relegated to the off-stage life.” The dance culture is rife with discourses of docile,

perfectible bodies and the jarring nature of the visibly pregnant body opens the door to

question what is expected of bodies on stage.

The pregnant body may be challenging with which to work as a choreographer

because it rips the audience from the highly controlled presentation of super-human

looking and performing body-as-machine bodies, and takes them to another place

mentally; perhaps the pregnant body reminds us of our vulnerability, sex, pain, our own

origins, time passing, or even death. Or it may take us to thoughts of our own family,

responsibilities, and duties.

On a deeper, more personal level, the pregnant dancing body asks us to confront

what a dancing woman should be. The life of a dancer is incredibly demanding; it is

time-intensive and physically rigorous. There is a general expectation in the field that

dancers will have much to give in both areas. Having a child asks a woman to divide her

attention between the two, which can be personally challenging to negotiate, and difficult

for a company director or department chair to accommodate.

Writing this thesis has strengthened my ability to see things with a critical eye and

has allowed me to see my own artistic choices with more objectivity. Deconstructing
 97

how Demi Moore’s Vanity Fair cover and other glossy pregnant bodies create a false

sense of freedom for pregnant women helped me to see how my own film constructs an

impression of pregnancy. Both are designed to steer perceptions, though at the time my

film was created I was not fully aware of those perceptions. Deconstructing the beautiful

and controlled bodies in dance helped me to be able to see my own involvement in the

system, and how some of my fears about becoming pregnant stem from the stringent

body culture in dance. Through this process I see myself as a more astute participant in

my own personal and artistic life.

In a way, there is no conclusion to my research. There is no “answer” to the

many questions I have posed, just a dance between meanings, because the issues are so

complex and in the end so unique to each woman’s personal experience. I think the

answer is more of an open-ended call to the dance community, a call to recognize the

pregnant form as a truly feminine experience worthy of being seen on stage and explored

as a subject, and a call for awareness and support so that as interviewee Rachel Harris

says, “…hiring and supporting a dancer in all stages of motherhood becomes as natural as

it should be.” Harris hopes, as I do, that as “more and more women decide to carry on

dancing as they have families the dance community will be obliged to pay attention and

set up structures to help us all survive.”

In a predominantly female field we should seek a more holistic approach to

exploring cultural and personal phenomena through movement to include the ultimate

female experience of pregnancy and mothering. As Joyce Maynard writes, “Giving birth

is a journey that leaves you in a different place from where you were when you started

out. A richer place, in many ways. But not a trip that comes with a return ticket.” We
 98

should seek to reclaim this source of feminine power and see the experiences, and help

others see the experiences gained through pregnancy and motherhood as strengths, which

give us depth and breadth as artists, educators, scholars, and creators. Administrators and

directors should be more creative in allowing women to birth and mother in ways that

support the long-term success of all involved.

Dancing women who choose motherhood engage in the ultimate act of

improvisation and creation to balance both aspects of life, one that facilitates new levels

of richness and understanding. Motherhood and dance inform each other in ways that

enrich and deepen the quality of both aspects of life and broaden a woman as an artist,

creator, educator, teacher, and human being.

 EPILOGUE

When I first began my research I was a young, naive student. I was drawn to the

topic because I was terrified about how I would make it work in my own life. I felt

extreme cultural pressure to have children, and soon. Though there was no one in my life

asking when we would have a child, the culture of marriage and family was an ever-

present cultural paradigm. I felt worried already that I was delaying having children for

my education; I did not know many people in my religious culture who had intentionally

delayed having children and at times wondered if I should feel guilty.

I became pregnant my second year of graduate school and was thrilled at the

news, though worried about teacher and student reactions, mostly from fear of other

people thinking, “There goes the poor Mormon girl. Wasting her life and her talents.”

Ironically, the week that school was ending and that I was scrambling to complete a new

creative project with a pregnant dancer I received devastating news. At my first doctor

appointment my measurements were not congruent to the size I should have been. They

sent me for an ultrasound. The technician worked in silence, and then quickly left to talk

to the doctor. She left us in the cold, dark room for what felt like an eternity, looking up

at a little black blob, wondering if we should be worried. She came back, timidly telling

me to get dressed and go to the doctor. The doctor told us that there was no heartbeat,

but needing to be thorough we needed to wait a week and check again. So go home, try

and be normal; maybe it will be all right?

 100

The week was a blur. I almost did not have time to wonder about the baby

because I was furiously creating a new thesis project in a matter of weeks. The day of the

filming was intense. We only had eight hours in the studio with a set up and take down

of an hour and a half to two hours on each end. I was also working with a dancer eight

months pregnant, and a dancer who brought her three-month-old baby to rehearsal. I

found myself sneaking thoughts of my baby throughout the day; I felt the irony that I was

creating a dance film celebrating the beautiful pregnant form and womanhood, and yet

wondering if my chance at such an event was slipping away. I felt coldness in my heart

as I wondered. The fury of the day ended and I was left with questions, anticipation,

hope and fear.

Three days after filming I went back to that same ultrasound room and as I feared

in my heart, there was no heartbeat; there was no baby. This child had stopped growing

weeks ago. I would need a dilation and curettage the next day. The hour long drive back

to my house from the hospital was one of the saddest of my life. I sobbed, my entire

body shaking. I had tried to fulfill a righteous desire and was being denied in a most

painful way.

I had the procedure, went back to school the next semester, and tried to move on

with life. It was strange coming back to school after the holidays. Exchanging

pleasantries with friends was awkward for me, everyone asking about my holiday, what I

did, what I got. I had a major life experience, a trauma, a heart break, and yet there was

not a way to tell people about it. When someone says, "Oh Christmas was great, I went

home to my family, ate lots of wonderful food, and got an iPod for Christmas. How was
 101

yours?" it isn't exactly fitting to say, "Oh, I lost a pregnancy and had a mildly invasive

surgery to remove it. Thanks for asking."

Life moved along, the semester ended. Although my course work was completed,

I was not done with my thesis. I moved to China. I thought I would have all the time and

inspiration in the world to write in China, but I didn’t. I lost my focus, lost my purpose in

life. I became overwhelmed with the adventure of living in a new culture with no

schedule or structure to provide purpose. I became pregnant again, this time not planned.

I was terrified. I did not know how it would work with insurance, or lack thereof, and

moving back to the United States. And the greater fear was the ever-present question of,

"Will the same thing happen again?" Everyone says that miscarriages are common; it's

nothing to worry about, so I tried not to. But the nagging fear stayed close to my heart.

Ten weeks came, and the check up came, and the ultrasound came, and no heartbeat

came. The waiting came again. The week of wondering came again. Return to the

hospital. No heartbeat again, must remove the contents immediately; another minimally

invasive surgery, another broken heart. This time instead of sadness I feel anger. Why

would God let this happen to me? Again. But I prayed, and received peace to my soul.

Somehow I am OK. Still sad, but OK.

Life moves on, again. We move across the world, again. I am still not done with

my thesis. I try, but not hard enough. This becomes a much longer gestation than I ever

imagined. I feel confused at my body. Why won't it fulfill its ultimate expression of

femininity? I am afraid to get pregnant again, terrified there is something wrong with

me. I study about the "wandering womb" for my thesis and wonder about my cold,
 102

unstable organ. Maybe men were right? Maybe it is suspect, out of control, and

unknowable.

I finally conceive, but live in terror that the same thing will happen again. Blood

tests and ultrasounds every Monday keep me barely hopeful. Every Monday I am elated

when the baby is growing and my hormone levels are stable, but every Sunday night I am

terrified for the next day's results. I cut back on almost all activity. I am afraid I am

hurting the baby; maybe it was my fault the other miscarriages occurred? Every time I

dance I wonder if I should stop. Every time I do yoga I work as minimally as possible.

As the weeks go by I almost believe this is happening. The fear diminishes, but never

goes away completely. Even as I get heavy with child and feel him growing and moving

inside of me I have to keep the fear from creeping into my heart.

He comes. Not how I planned, he is cut from my body, but he comes. And he is

beautiful, and I am healing. He is more work than I ever imagined. I live on adrenaline.

He scares me. But I love him through the fear. I feed him from my body. I watch him

grow. He cries. I cry. We both live and grow. He is a delight. I learn. I relax. I live

and love. I have a desire to go back and birth what I started so long ago.

So here I am. He is ten months old. I have not left him for more than two hours

his entire life and now I have to get this thesis done. I work and things come into place

like they never have before. I see my research in a way I was unable to before. I see my

interview participants in a new light, with a new respect, with an understanding that

comes only by entering the tribe of motherhood. I see myself as a woman with more

respect and confidence. I see that there are many ways to live a life and I choose mine

with pride. I choose to stay home with my son full time. I could go out and find
 103

professional endeavors to fill my time, but I choose to give it to him. He will only be

little for so long and I want to treasure these days. I do have longing moments, when I

wish I was on the stage, when I wish I was back in dancing shape, but those pass with a

reconfirmed understanding that this is what I choose. Just like some choose to dance as

much as possible up to the last moments of fertility and do so with pride, so do I choose

days at home with my little man with pride. That is what I have learned through this

birthing process, there are so many ways to live a life, and I will always be a dancer at

heart, even if you do not see me on the stage.

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 108

WRITTEN INTERVIEW PARTICIPANTS

The author created a questionnaire and solicited responses from the following
participants. Interviewees responded between October 2004 and March of 2005 unless
otherwise stated. Interviewees were given questions in a Word document to respond to at
their convenience, typed their responses into the document and either emailed or sent the
document back to the author.

Abrams, Gail Monson, Kate

Allen, Cathy Oliver, Cynthia

Arrington, Gigi Ollerton, Christine

Banchero-Kelleher, Angela Omura, June

Barry, Sarry Phillips, Rebecca

Burns, Kristi Race, Lisa

Casey, Kathy Rigert, Rebecca

Debenham, Kathie Ririe, Shirley

Geber, Pamela Robinson, Julie

Haigood, Joanna White, Donna

Harris, Rachel Wood, Marni

Haws Roberts, Janice Wood Saunders, Reagan

Hawley, Jane Woodbury, Joan

Henderson, Heidi Wright Miller, Gill

Hurlin, Denise

Interviewee A

Interviewee B. October 2009.

Interviewee C October 2009.

McClain, Susan