There’s this persistent struggle I think a lot of artists face. For a very fortunate few, art can pay the bills. For most of us, though, there isn’t much money to be made in the arts, so we seemingly live two simultaneous lives in parallel: one that pays the bills and one that keeps us sane.
The belly dance community as a whole doesn’t get a lot of tea. I mean, troupes have their own share of internal drama, there’s always that one girl who stands directly in between you and your mirror in class, and people have opinions about… well, everything when it comes to culture, identity, performance styles, costume choices, appropriation, trademarking, and so on.
But sometimes new ideas take hold of a community of people who are dancing in a way that has existed for at least decades – if not centuries – and the community then has to decide whether it will respond in kind or with aggression.
This week, that’s happening.
This post could also be titled “Hi. I’m Brice. I don’t know what I’m doing, but I needed to publish something on this site so I decided to make a fool out of myself instead of forming a legitimate plan.”
But that was too wordy.