Dancing On My Own
Govanhillian Chanderkiran Thakur writes about learning to let yourself go in some of the inclusive dance workshops offered in and around Govanhill.
By Chanderkiran Thakur | Illustration by Laura Wade
I love to dance! Usually in my room copying the glittering Bollywood dances or emo classics of my childhood to an imaginary screaming audience. It’s a strictly solitary practice that rarely gets transferred to an actual dancefloor. Self-consciousness and comparison usually lead me to a restrained sexy bop or hair flick, arguably very satisfying but lacking liberation.
This is a well-known feeling for many for whom going to a dance class full of choreo is more likely to increase nerves than make a Dance Dance Revolution champion. In Govanhill, however, there are a number of classes less focused on choreo and more about the liberation and health benefits of dance, and the inclusion of all body types.
One such class is ‘No Lights, No Lycra’ at Larkfield Community Centre. I wouldn’t really call it a class though. The room was fitted with large speakers and coloured lights spinning across the walls. There were no instructions, no choreography, routine or mirrors. The music played and we were free to dance however we liked in the dark, surrounded only by the whoops, claps and stomps of other dancers.
Imogen Wilson and Lucy Gordon, who facilitate the class, say it’s a huge stress reliever: “Both being mothers and dance lovers we just wanted to dance for the hell of it. I always leave feeling energised and lighter,” Imogen says.
No-one was looking at me, I didn’t have to talk to anyone. It was simply a space to dance where I could close my eyes, get my body moving and reignite the joy of spinning around like a kid. A regular advised me to notice where resistance was coming from: certain unused muscles, movements that feel uncomfortable, or even songs you don’t enjoy!
“It’s a bit of a challenge with a song you don’t like. To let go of your preconceived ideas or notions and just dance to it,” the shadowy attendee told me., “It's very good for you to surrender yourself to something you have resistance to.”
‘No Lights, No Lycra’ has seen people attend with walkers, with their daughters, or in formal suits straight from work. “We’re people who hear good music and can’t keep still,” Lucy says.
In comparison a dance class at Scottish Ballet's base in Tramway, where the touring company spends hours perfecting their technique, might seem intimidating. I imagine myself like Billy Elliot the first time he watches the tutu-clad dancers in the boxing gym. However, the company’s ‘Dance Health’ programme’s holistic and relaxed approach shares more in common with ‘No Lights, No Lycra’ than my favourite childhood film.
Danielle Tyrer is Scottish Ballet’s Health Artist and runs classes for people with Parkinson’s, Multiple Sclerosis, Dementia and long COVID. The classes mix the current Scottish Ballet repertoire with other techniques like seated routines, mindfulness, imagery, rhythmic movements, creative choreography and more to accommodate specific symptoms. Live, improvised piano ebbs and flows alongside the class which is followed by a social cafe.
“Some dancers have told me when chronic pain flares up, they use the rhythms learnt from the classes to centre the body and achieve daily tasks,” Danielle tells me. “A rise from the toes reaching for the top shelf, a plie while washing the dishes, a port-de-bras to focus at your desk.”
My own health has been up and down as I’ve navigated a slow recovery from surgery. Building back trust in my mobility and connection with my body has been slow. Pushing myself into uncomfortable territory, I attended Dance Moves For Friends at Southside Studios by Kirstin Halliday where I learned steps from dance film Rosas Danst Rosas. This seated choreography is filled with rigid repetitive movements, body strokes and hair flicks. The routine begins with a nod to others in the room, as if asking permission to dance together. It is an intimate and powerful invitation, more like a communal ritual than dance. Attending was Lydia Morrow, who has recovered from an eating disorder and lives with disability: “The class allowed me to let go of my own body image while dancing.,” Lydia said.
After grasping the movements and adjusting some to our abilities and strengths, we danced together, coming in and out of sequence along a line. Unlike a céilidh, we were not focused on each other or partnered, but I felt bonded to everyone in the class as we thrust our heads between our knees, flicked our hair back and slapped our thighs in unison.
These spaces help uncover the healing and unifying power of dance, moving it away from unintelligible steps and bringing it closer to how we dance in clubs or in the kitchen to Cher. While I’ll never be a back-up dancer to my Bollywood heroes like Rekha, classes like these are teaching me that’s not what dance should be about.
No Lights No Lycra is on every Wednesday at 5pm at the Larkfield Community Centre. Check out scottishballet.co.uk and @dance_moves_for_friends on Instagram for details of future classes.