As each of the three women, all with shoulder length silver hair, gathered in a sunlit room for a photoshoot, there was a discussion about the attire. “How about all black?” Bess Snyder Fredlund offered as a color suggestion, to which Betty Loos agreed. Bess Pilcher Lovec shared a teasing threat of showing up in a bathrobe because the instructions said, “comfortable.” The photographer, a former student of Loos, directed all three into standing and seated poses as I prepared a microphone and notepad for our meeting.
I had heard stories and brief references to Montana dance companies that have come and gone over the decades. These references would be simple conversational anecdotes over dinner, “I was part of a professional modern dance company in the 70s.” Another story included information about performing a piece set by renowned choreographer Bill Evans, or hosting national dance artists like Joe Goode for workshops at Eastern Montana College (now Montana State University – Billings). Over the years, I pieced together a rough sense of timeline and reoccurring individuals. What caught my attention were stories that weren’t just about youth dance education and youth programming, but professional and semi-professional groups and companies that carved out a space in Montana and even committed to state-wide and multi-state tours. I felt compelled to revisit a deeper inquiry about my embedment as a performance artist in Montana: Who carved a path ahead of me?
As I compiled pieces of stories and individual timelines, I recognized dance makers and educators like Fredlund, Loos, and Lovec were large contributors to the dance performance scene in Montana and also were individuals who had influenced (directly and indirectly) my perception about art making as a young artist. While I listened to their conversation, I noted how their memories included many other influential dance makers, some still creating, and some who have passed on.
I asked them to sit down for a panel discussion to share their memories and experiences based on the suggestion of a creative mentor, “the best thing you can do is talk about each other, tell each other’s stories: record them, share them, document each other’s work.” And while it was not stated, the urgency was evident: make space for fellow artists to tell their stories themselves. I considered how I might apply this practice to inquiries of my own.
A lot of my research and reflections focus on the transfer of embodied knowledge that is carried into the studio and shared with aspiring dancers. I recognize that those interactions create new intersections, expand connections, and often instills reinterpretation. This transference for many dance artists is an embodied responsibility and a physical dialogue derived from memory. I never worked directly with Lovec or Fredlund, but their brief presence held a resonating influence in my artistic upbringing.
The common question in [Eurocentric] dance introductions is “who’d you train with,” or “what’s your background?” All too often, in my experience, it narrows the scope of influence and memories to a linear line of individuals and dismisses the larger canvas in which those experiences happened.
When I began to document my artistic ancestry and background, I found an entangled web more than a linear path, and much of it is rooted in Montana. My experiences all intertwine. If you were to look at my revised artistic map today, it does not resemble a tree. Instead it moves downward like a subterranean root system with people, places, memories, and experiences entangled together – rather than specific individuals from a single artistic modality. In fact, some of my most influential experiences occurred outside the studio or during opportunities of retrospection.
Reflection offers a lot of vantage and, as an artist working within historiography, memory, and movement ontology, I find it increasingly important to gaze backwards upon the memories that now carry threads of one’s lineage. This requires slowing down … reflecting … sewing individual and collective connections to the past … Which brings me to the gold thread.
When I first heard those words, I was inspired by this notion of connection via an invisible gold thread and I pressed into the work more. At the time those words instilled a particular work ethic: to be an exemplary artifact of my mentor’s lineage, and I lost myself in the process. I consider my artistic lineage, much of it dance and even more so ballet, to be an embodied bibliography – imprinted on and into me. This gold thread is woven into my movement patterns, wrapped around my joints, and zig zagged through my nervous system. Sometimes it is a sensation of immense mobility and other times restriction. I am entangled in a web of inherited movement language that connects me to individuals of extraordinary influence and remarkable innovation. This was an incredible realization for someone who began their dance journey in a church basement of a small country town with a population of less than 500 people. I often felt disconnected from a culture I was supposed to belong to.
Which brings me back to location – “you are here.” While my dance education has connections around the globe, and through the centuries, my coordinates and geographical embedment as a dance artist in Montana is just as much an influence – in fact I would argue more so. The opportunities that arose from my focused study in dance was, and remains, part of a duality that I reflect upon often in my artistic voice. I find myself wanting to pull on the gold thread and stretch it out so I can have distance from the traditions and structure. I recognize I learned that kind of creative resistance from dance makers like Loos who fostered a balance of learning the craft while not losing a sense of my authentic [quirky] personality in the process.
To pursue a career in the arts in Montana is an undertaking that requires stamina, grit, and ingenuity. This is even prevalent in the performing arts and dance communities because the work is ephemeral and, in comparison to other forms, intangible. I recognize my geographical embedment shapes my relationship to that gold thread and how I am linked to a much more storied history of dance making in Montana. I have witnessed a lot of effort spent looking outward to the trends and artists outside the region and it results in a form of amnesia, regarding the efforts and contributions of those that create[d] and share[d] their art here. This stirred me to start making notes, to be more observant.
A few years ago, I heard about a dance performance that took place in the 1980s. It was staged during a benefit auction in downtown Billings over Valentine’s Day and involved eight dancers in white wedding dresses dragging red tulle fabric around and walking up to people attending the event and whispering, “he must be here somewhere.” It sounded like a hybrid performance art event and delightfully avant garde, even for today. And when I heard it ended with one of the dancers on a table wrapped from head to toe in the red tulle in a ritual fashion it reminded me of feminist artists like Judy Chicago and the Guerilla Girls. This piece was choreographed by Fredlund with Lovec and Loos as two of the eight dancers.
I wondered what other stories I might be missing.
And if I have gained anything from facilitating opportunities to sit down and listen, it’s a healthy dose of perspective. While modern dance might not seem as fresh as the new trends of post-modern and contemporary dance culture today, in Montana during the 1970s wearing pixie short hair, and not wearing a bra while performing would cause pause in a small rural community. Creating artwork for a community of your peers is one thing, but that experience shifts immensely traveling to communities who may have zero awareness of the work you do or the art form you’ve studied. The smallest inspiration can come from a moment of witnessing something new or a realization that art making, dance, can be a profession, even in Montana.
After the photo shoot, we gathered in around a large coffee table, we shuffled through a collection of photos, concert programs, and newspaper releases from decades past. On the wall hung large pieces of paper with headings on each: “1960s,” “1970s,” “1980s,” “1990s,” “2000s – present.” The conversation trundled along, the stories began intersecting and traveling between the decades, and included a demonstration of Fredlund’s very first solo - a bluebird from the ballet Coppelia.
Initially I intended on taking copious notes, but instead wrote only a few names and dates down. I attuned myself to each of their stories as though I was memorizing a phrase of choreography, or a script. From that visit, my memory weaves and intersects with new thoughts and reflections that I look forward to re-visiting again very soon – but this time with all of you.
Join Loos, Lovec, and Fredlund for a panel discussion Tuesday, January 28th at Art House Cinema 109 North 30th in downtown Billings.
Doors open: 7pm
Panel talk: 7:30pm
Admission is FREE, seating is limited
Reservations available
Apparel “comfortable.” Wedding dresses optional.
More information available at haltforceartcollective.com/press-release