For a Brazilian Choreographer, Dance as an Obstacle Course

By LARRY ROHTER
Published: October 21, 2009

In a country where nearly everyone is a dancer, or at least aspires to be one, Deborah Colker still manages to stand out, both for her versatility and her unwillingness to be pigeonholed. Over a career spanning nearly 30 years, this Brazilian choreographer has worked in settings as aesthetically distinct as the Theatro Municipal in Rio de Janeiro, a temple of high art, and the samba schools that parade on the streets a few blocks away during the city’s annual Carnival competition.

“I don’t acknowledge barriers,” Ms. Colker, lithe and blond and brimming with enthusiasm, said in an interview this week as her company was preparing for four performances beginning on Thursday at City Center, its first New York City appearance in nearly a decade. “My attitude is kind of punk, in that I don’t respect rules or dogmas. I like mixtures, the challenges they present, and finding new solutions to old questions.”

Perhaps the most salient characteristic of Ms. Colker’s work since she founded the company that bears her name 15 years ago has been her desire to toy with perceptions of dimension, direction and distance. An early piece, “Rota,” featured dancers performing in a large spinning wheel, like hamsters at play, and another, “Velox,” required them to scale walls as if they were rock climbers competing at the X Games.

“Why must the stage always be horizontal and the dancer vertical?” she asked, and not rhetorically. “Why not use movement to subvert space and question gravity? And so I set about investigating ways to do that, in both the horizontal and vertical planes.”

Her most recent work, the disorienting “Cruel,” features three revolving mirrors with portholes, which enable the dancers to travel through those reflective spaces. And one part of “4x4,” the four-part, hourlong program her 17-member troupe will perform in Manhattan, employs 90 porcelain vases, spaced a little more than a yard apart in a chessboard pattern, as a sort of obstacle course around which her dancers must maneuver.

“Deborah is always working from concepts, and is very interested in things like physics and geometry,” said Donald Hutera, a London-based critic who is co-author of “The Dance Handbook” and has written extensively about Ms. Colker. “Her approach is big and colorful and quite playful, and there’s a physical riskiness to what she does, but that doesn’t mean it’s empty or shallow. She’s trying to place all this scientific stuff in a very kinetic context that is also very entertaining.”

When Ms. Colker’s company was starting, the Brazilian dance establishment reacted to that approach with dismay and even a certain disdain. Tatiana Leskova, a lead dancer in the Original Ballet Russe who trained generations of ballerinas after arriving in Brazil in 1944, initially dismissed Ms. Colker’s pieces as “at best gymnastics,” though she later changed her mind and became a supporter.

But it was precisely the insouciance and playfulness of Ms. Colker’s work that led Cirque du Soleil to invite her to write, direct and choreograph a new show, “OVO,” commemorating that Canadian group’s 25th anniversary. “OVO,” which means egg in Portuguese, is a humorous but environmentally conscious evocation of life and love in the insect world that had its premiere in Montreal in May and will move to the United States next month; it is scheduled to arrive in New York in May 2010.

“This show is about energy, spirit, color and sound,” said Chantal Tremblay, Cirque du Soleil’s creative director. “Deborah’s signature is energy and movement, and that is what she brought to ‘OVO.’ The way she uses her dancers is very direct and physical, and of course we were also interested in her use of the apparatus of wheels, walls and vases.”

Ms. Colker is the first woman to choreograph a Cirque du Soleil show, but she has had plenty of experience directing large dance ensembles in settings outside her comfort zone. For three years in the mid-1990s, Rio’s oldest Afro-Brazilian samba school, Mangueira, hired her to choreograph part of its Carnival presentation, an experience she repeated a decade later with another leading samba group, Viradouro.

“I love and respect the samba and adore Carnival, but it’s not my world,” she said. “Carnival has rules, and I had to respect them, and so it was difficult at times. But it was a very exciting and worthwhile experience. It’s been said that Carnival is a gigantic street opera, and that’s the way I approached it.”

Born in 1961, Ms. Colker was raised in Rio in a family of Jewish immigrants from Russia. Her father, a violinist and music teacher, gave her a grounding in classical European culture. As a child, she studied piano for a decade and played volleyball with sufficient skill and intensity that she was twice named to an all-state team alongside players who would eventually win medals in the Olympics. A serious commitment to dance, however, came only when she was 16, an age when many girls are giving up ballet.

“Dance is very much a collegial activity, and I liked that after the extreme solitude of playing the piano,” she explained. “I had a lot of adrenaline too, a physical energy that I brought from sports, an activity which, like dance, requires discipline, competitiveness and persistence. But I also felt a necessity for creative expression” that volleyball could not satisfy.

“Art is not a question of winning and losing,” she added. “It’s about exploration and experimentation and transformation and discovery, and I take great pleasure in that.”

After studying psychology, Ms. Colker danced with a Brazilian company. Gradually, she also began choreographing videos aimed for MTV and worked for nearly a decade as a “movement director” for some of Brazil’s best-known actors and theater and film directors, helping them with staging and learning to use body language to deepen the impact of texts.

Ms. Colker resumed her piano studies in 1999, and makes extensive use of her musical training in her dance pieces. The “Vasos” section of “4x4” opens with her playing a Mozart sonata, while other segments draw on Eno-influenced ambient sounds, the jazz standard “Some Day My Prince Will Come” and fragments composed by the electronic-music pioneer Raymond Scott.

“Deborah has a sharp and decisive sensibility, and is very attentive to music, about which she is passionate, almost possessive,” the Brazilian singer-songwriter Caetano Veloso, long an admirer of her work, said in a telephone interview from Rio. “Her work is poetic, but never in a diaphanous or ethereal way. She’s a dancer who thinks like a musician, in that the sense of time and rhythm in her choreography is quite accentuated.”

Though its United States appearances have been rare, Ms. Colker’s company often performs in Europe, where audiences have responded enthusiastically to that breezy Brazilian style. She won an Olivier Award, London’s equivalent of the Tony, for “Velox” and another piece in 2001, and was also commissioned by the Berlin Ballet to create a piece for that company.

“Deborah is a Vesuvius of a personality whose work is strong and engaging and connects with people, not just an elite,” Mr. Hutera said. “She can be popular and profound, sophisticated and subtle, carefree but serious. She is always embracing contradictions and embodies a lot of those contradictions herself.”

Source: New York Times

Portrait of the artist: Mark Morris, choreographer

Interview by Laura Barnett
guardian.co.uk, Monday 19 October 2009 23.00 BST

'Who would I most like to work with? Handel – he taught me everything, and he's not around to take the credit'


What got you started?
Every child dances, and then you learn not to. So I always danced around, and then, when I was eight, I saw a flamenco dance concert – and I was sold.

What was your big breakthrough?
When I made my first dance, which I called Barstow, at age 15. And when my company played at the Brooklyn Academy of Music in 1984, and [the New Yorker's] dance critic Arlene Croce said I was worth watching.

Is there any truth in the old saying: art is 1% inspiration, 99% perspiration?
No, that's nonsense. I don't seek inspiration, and my work is also not a horrible drudgery. So maybe it's exactly 50%.

What's the greatest threat to dance today?
Dance itself. The one reason people don't take dance seriously is because a lot of choreographers don't take dance seriously. Audiences don't want to see the kind of self-indulgent, boring dance that is so prevalent today.

What one song would work as the soundtrack to your life?
Bach's B Minor mass, because there's nothing wrong with it.

Is dance an elitist art form?
If that means that it's not for everybody, then yes. "Elitist" doesn't need to mean wealthy and conservative; it can also mean specialised and rarefied, and that's no bad thing.

Who would you most like to work with?
This is worrisome. If I say somebody who's around today, then I'll get a phone call from their agent. So I'll have George Frideric Handel, because he taught me everything I know, but isn't around to take the credit.

Which work do you wish you had written yourself?
Michel Fokine's Les Sylphides [first staged in 1909]. It's the most gorgeous dance in the world.

What's the best advice anyone ever gave you?
Choreographer Lar Lubovitch once said to me: "You're not going to start a dance company, are you?" It was a warning about how strange and difficult it would be. And that's true – but I like it.

What's the worst thing anyone has ever said about your work?
A dance critic once called my piece The Death of Socrates "inert". Which I found puzzling, because doesn't that mean it doesn't move? I've been thinking about that for the last 20 years.

In short
Born: Seattle, 1956.
Career: Formed the Mark Morris Dance Company in 1980; has also worked as an opera director. His company perform at Sadler's Wells, London (0844 412 4300), 27–31 October.
High point: "Working with [conductor] James Levine on Orfeo ed Eurydice at the New York Met."
Low point: "When a show I directed, Paul Simon's The Capeman, failed miserably."

Source: guardian.co.uk

Sikidim, sikidim

By Tanya Goudsouzian
Published in Al-Ahram Weekly
6 - 12 July 2000, Issue No. 489

It was as though one had been propelled centuries back in time, to the tent of a wealthy tribal patriarch who was giving one of his many daughters in marriage to a worthy young camel herder. Ebullient young girls in shimmering, beaded bustiers jiggled and whirled about in their diaphanous skirts before a spellbound audience. On the evening of 27 June, however, there were no camels in sight. The audience comprised mostly veiled matriarchal characters and subdued middle-aged men, as well as a sprinkling of foreigners eager to sample "authentic Arab culture."

The Ramses Hilton was the chosen locale for the costume show that was part of the week-long festival of Oriental dance organised by well-known dance instructor Madame Raga'i. The elaborate -- and eminently seductive -- ensembles on display were the handiwork of Amira El-Qattan, a tall, graceful woman with bright orange hair, who stole the show in her skin-tight black gown the moment she strutted into the hall. The evening stretched on for some seven hours, but what kept the audience locked in place were rumours that the organising committee held some tantalising surprises in store.

The spectacle began at 8.00pm with the celebrated Reda Folkloric Dance Troupe members performing a zaffa, the traditional wedding procession consisting of song and dance. Then the lights were dimmed and large screens placed at both extremities of the room presented a brief historical of Oriental dance. Revered figures such as Tahia Carioca, Samia Gamal and Soheir Zaki reappeared in the prime of their youth on celluloid to show what the art was all about: communication and improvisation. Today, many people take the dance at face value, and equate it with the ever-popular American strip show. To put it bluntly, it must be understood that it is not about selling oneself, but about grace, agility and an ear for the subtlest titillation of music. Of course, time passes, music changes and so does the dance. This was a point emphasised by Soheir Zaki, famous in the 1970s and 1980s, who was in attendance and spoke to Al-Ahram Weekly.

From top: Samia Gamal; Tahia Carioca and Farid El-Atrash; Dina; Foufa in London in 1970; Lucy and Soheir Zaki: a demanding jury; comparing styles; Natasha Atlas, the songbird who took Europe by storm (photos: Sherif Sonbol and Al-Ahram's archives)

"A dancer has an ability to make both quick and slow movements. Back then, the music allowed for the dancer to show all her abilities," said Zaki. "Today the music is too fast."

As the screening came to an end, the DJ began spinning some popular Middle Eastern beats and in bounced the jaunty models garbed in gaily-coloured frocks. El-Qattan's collections were modelled by young women who had travelled from the four corners of the globe, including Australia, Japan and Italy, to partake in the series of workshops to be given by the country's most masterful dancers during the week-long festival. It might sound like a scene straight from an illustrated copy of the Arabian Nights, but it looked more like Mardi Gras with some of the ladies boasting cascades of gold locks, tattoos and a few excess kilos.

Just about the time they made their appearance, I made my disappearance -- under a swarm of photographers who, like moles, scurried out from their dark corners towards the light, nearly blocking my view. What I could discern, however, was that the collection was divided into themes, some inspired by legendary women such as Sheherazade and the Queen of Sheba. The Sheherazade costumes had a mystical quality, with halo-like shades that left a hazy trail behind them and coupes fantaisistes ; the Queen of Sheba line could best be described as regal, ornate with jewels, ruched shoulder bands and rich colours. El-Qattan also brought in some modern looks, such as tie-dye and floral Carmen-like prints.

The girls left the stage and a hush spread throughout the hall. The first surprise was to be revealed. The backstage door cracked open and a slight figure in a diaphanous black outfit with gold trimmings stepped out. She was none other than the toast of Paris, Natacha Atlas. There was no mistaking those features: a tanned complexion, slanted eyes elongated with black kohl and a mesmerising gaze. When she began to sing, she uttered French lyrics but her enchanting voice followed an unmistakably Oriental melody. Atlas recently relocated to Egypt to find her roots. Born in Belgium to an English mother and a (technically) Egyptian father, the songbird has taken Europe by storm with a style than can only be compared to that of the late great ballad singer Dalida. In my opinion, the audience did not do her justice in their applause. Perhaps the proportions of her reputation have not yet reached the country, or perhaps an audience more likely to worship Umm Kulthoum can never really appreciate the likes of Atlas.

After her performance, the jiggling young ladies returned once more, wearing another series of El-Qattan concoctions. At this stage, the audience was visibly exhausted from watching amateurs imitate Oriental dance. Lucy's performance came just in time. Lucy had made her initial entrance as a guest alongside Soheir Zaki, amid flashing bulbs. But somewhere along the line, she discretely retreated backstage where she traded her slinky backless black gown for a chi-chi Oriental deux-pièces.

Lucy's style can be dubbed the Perrier of belly-dance. She is an acquired taste. She makes no effort to captivate the audience with eye contact or coquettish gestures. She simply gyrates to the beat -- but such a precise gyration. Through the grape-vine, I learned that Fifi Abdu, the reigning queen of the country's movers and shakers, had been asked to perform. When she informed the organisers that her price would "depend on the number of heads in the audience," she was shimmied off the list of performers.

Lucy's performance was a few notches higher in the class department than what Fifi could have provided. Barramching! Lucy's hips jolt to the right. Barramching, ching, ching! Lucy's hips jut-jut-jut to the left. Her expressionless face cracks a smile as the audience begins to appreciate her physical rendition of the music played by a live band. She dances as though she is singing, sometimes extending her arms upwards, miming a soprano. She reappeared for her second sequence dressed in a sizzling red concerto gown -- albeit, one exhibiting more cleavage than any conservatoire would allow -- and short auburn wig. For her final sequence, she emerged in a translucent black and silver dishdasha with a cane in hand. Here, she paid homage to Soheir Zaki who was sitting in the audience. "Up," she gestured and a gushing Zaki obeyed, giddy at the prospect of dancing before an audience again. It was a sentimental scene when the two ladies danced in embrace.

When Lucy's number was up, the guests were told they could finally approach the buffet. By now it was past midnight, and everyone was famished. I had to fight my way through the throng with a fork for a morsel of chicken kofta. When I returned to sample the desserts, not only had the serving dishes been wiped clean, but "they have eaten the spoons too," quipped one unfortunate guest. Back to our respective tables. The pièce de resistance was about to make her way on-stage.

Dina is the quintessential belly dancer. This fact cannot be disputed. With a mane of jet black ringlets down her back and a cleavage virtually bursting out of her bustier, she appears as though she has been peeled off one of those Orientalist paintings they peddle in Khan Al-Khalili "art" shops. All she has to do is stand there, and the male audience is satisfied, as the smiles plastered on faces attested, even when she had left the room to change between sequences.

But she is anything but immobile. She is full of expression, flirty, mischievous and suggestive. She shakes about with a broad infectious smile, dragging her legs and her arms in wide motions like a gypsy dancer. She has a few gestures that constitute her trademark, like when she makes eye contact with some hapless gent in the audience, then points to her navel. When his eyes follow, she erupts in laughter and goes on with her business.

Her costumes are another matter. For her first sequence, she sauntered on stage in a candy pink outfit, reminiscent of the one worn by Barbara Eden in the 1960s hit series "I Dream of Genie." In her second sequence, she wore a blue iridescent butterfly-shaped bustier and a floral print cache-maillot wrapped around her hips. The third sequence, she came out dressed in a fire-engine red slip-like costume, shredded at the hem. What is remarkable about this woman is the fact that mere months have passed since she gave birth to her son Ali and she is in better shape than some unmarried women. She may come across as the bimbo of belly-dance, but this would be, quite literally, a show. Dina holds a master's degree in philosophy and is well-travelled, having lived in Rome for many years. A closer look at her performances and one clearly detects a calculated image.

When I left the hotel, it was past 2.00am. Dina was still dancing -- in a fourth ensemble, black with gold trimmings. Every single guest was still in place. The magic of Oriental dance has not been lost, despite growing fears that Westernisation (or globalisation) will erode local culture.

"Arab dance must be spread," said Soheir Zaki, when asked what she thought of foreigners taking on the dance. "The whole world should appreciate it." But can they ever really capture its essence?

Source: Al-Ahram

"I want all the women in all the world to belly dance."

Belly dancing choreographer Hassan Khalil speaks to Yoga Travel.

Hassan Khalil is a professor in the Higher Institute of Dramatic Arts in Cairo. He teaches oriental dancing all over the world, but, ironically not allowed to teach belly dancing in Egypt - it has been banned in public institutions.

"Like any art, belly dancing started with religion. It came from the times of the pharaohs: you can see them dancing in the tombs and temples. The form of their movements expressed their connection to the gods. To open themselves to the gods they used movement from the womb - the most sensitive and holy place in their bodies. Their hand positions too were a form of prayer: putting their hands above their heads and out to one side, for example, meant talking to god. In Pharonic times the shapes they made were a language with which they communicated with the gods.

Belly dancing is all based upon the womb. Where do you think we get the word woman? I am a man, she is womb-man. Belly dancing is the movement of the holy place of the woman - the womb is where it all starts. The secret of belly dance is not in the dance - it's in the woman.

Civilisation today structures how women live - go on the metro, sit at the computer, run up stairs - all things that are contrary to the rhythms of her body. They are looking for the relationship between the power and energy within them and themselves. They're searching for the fine art of their bodies in space.

When I teach the women in Europe I say to them: 'shake your breasts.' Of course they refuse. But I insist: 'Shake them. Shake.' And then they do it and sometimes they scream. They start to feel themselves as a female person. Life is monotonous. But with another rhythm, it can free you from the daily rhythm of everyday life.

Every woman has the physiology. In Egypt we call belly dancing 'the mother' because it gives women the ability to prove the freedom of their body. We did a class in Frankfut with deaf girls. They felt the music through the ground, and they danced. The city mayor was there - he cried. It was the first time they heard their body. And blind women too, they'd never seen the movement in their lives, but they could do the dance - it was a miracle, they could feel their bodies. One and a half million girls in Brazil doing it. This is not fashion - this is women feeling themselves."

Source: YogaTravel

"Of course it's exhibitionist, but all girls like to feel sexy."

Dancer Keti Shariff talks to Yoga Travel.


Keti Shariff trains belly dancers in Cairo and travels all over the world to dance, although not in Egypt. She is booked by clients for shows or weddings, then flies out to perform. We sit in the opulent surroundings of Cairo's Marriot hotel.

What does belly dancing mean?
"It's about many things - physical, sexual, sensual, fitness. It's about female empowerment, and about feeling sexy. And of course it's about glitter and dressing up. But originally the shapes and postures used in belly dancing were representations of nature, to worship god. In fact, one of the early stars - Tahira Kareoka - her father was a sheik in a mosque."

Is it exhibitionist?
"Of course, but all girls like to feel sexy. You know, in some ways it has never left the harem. It's always been about women dancing amoungst themselves. There's a group of you and you dance together, you show off what you know. It's not at all for the men - it's for us."

Why don't you dance in Egypt any more?
"I realized that I didn't want to dance any more in Egypt when I was dancing at the Nile Hilton. The manager took me aside and told me I had to get an AIDS test. He explained that they like their customers to stay for a long time, to spend a lot of money in the hotels, and to make that happen the dancers, you know, we have to get close to them. He said it because he knew that I was new to dancing, and to let me know that it's not always a clean business. But that was it. Now I don't dance in Egypt any more."

What do people think of you as a dancer?
"When I tell Egpytians that I'm a dancer they look at me a bit strangely and their eyes go wide. They can't really understand. But when I get talking to them about the old stars of the past and they're like 'oh yes, they were the greats', then they know that I'm doing it for the love of the dance, not in a sleazy sense."

What is the state of belly dancing in Egypt today?
"Most Egyptian girls get into it because they want to become actresses. Or to get onto TV. They see people like Shakira and Britney belly dancing and they want to be like them. But the dancers here are not the role models they used to be. In the 40s and the 50s there were really big stars, people still talk about them today, that was the golden age of belly dancing.

"People are interested in different stuff thess days. They don't book dancers for private parties so much any more. Younger couples getting married don't automatically look for a dancer at their weddings. These days they look for something different - maybe a jazz band. Belly dancing just isn't on their radar.

In some ways it's going back to its roots - it's always been a hidden thing. Maybe in ten years time it will re-emerge again into the glamour of the old days, when the young girls start seeing the big stars and saying - I want to do that."

Source: YogaTravel

Liza Laziza: "What's wrong with being a dancer who just loves to dance?"

By: Will Cottrell

Liza is an early fortyish woman, born in Iran and raised in London. These days she lives and works as a dancer in Cairo and commands a salary of 'thousands' per party, except in her favourite venue back in London, where 'I couldn't ask anything like that'. We talk in her flat in Cairo's fashionable Zamalek district. The flat is richly decorated with oriental furniture. On the walls are pictures of her dancing in the desert - blue costume against the white sand, shiffon scarves trailing in the breeze.

"Once my bra strap broke mid way through a perfomance," she begins. "I managed to get off stage - but my dressing woman had it back together and I was back on stage within thirty seconds." She's even had a whisky glass thrown at her: "that was my fault, my Arabic wasn't so good then and I think instead of calling someone my brother I called him a homosexual - not good in Arab society," she smirks.

"Belly dancing is not only to do with the belly: it's in the hips, the arms, the waist - it's the whole body. I'm translating the rythmn and melody into my body. It's a powerful expression of women without words. It's saying it's OK to be sexy and powerful - but not vulgar. It's being dignified."

What can western women gain from belly dancing?
"A lot of women want to do it because they love the music. There's others who want to tone their body. Some need it cos they're shy and low self-esteem. Taking lessons and performing in groups gives them self-esteem - an acceptance, an acknowledgement. It's both very personal and very public. The women that are drawn to it are definitely interested in the woman side of it. I had one woman - she was an engineer - she said, I'm not in my body at all. I want to find myself as a women, she said. It's a very feminine dance."

What's so special about Egypt?
"It's the only middle eastern country that is - possibly - democratic. It has alcohol - and as far as the dance is concerned it's as old as the pyramids. Cairo is the heart of the dance. Thirty years ago there was nightclubs everywhere. Every four or five star hotel had a nightclub -the money was huge."

"Then the rot set in. If you look at movies of the last ten or twenty years they all depicts the dancer as a theif, a liar, a prostitute, man eater. Recently Dina has declined to act in any film that depicts dancers in a negative light. Several months ago Fifi Abdou was interviewed, the interviewer was making out that dancers are bad - she said 'what is wrong with being a dancer who just loves to dance?' I always think what's your issue, why can't you handle it. It's your dirty mind."

Source: YogaTravel

Dina: Daring, Debauched or simply Delightful?

"You have to be strong. You have to continue your career, you have to be strong everyday."
Exclusive Yoga Travel interview with top belly dancer Dina
By Will Cottrell

As the country's best belly dancer, Dina is one of the most famous women in Egypt. Yet the Egyptian press have regularly enjoyed the eruptions of her personal life. In 2002, a video appeared of the dancer in bed with her third husband. She fled the country, vowing never to dance again. She returned, however, to sue him, eventually also sending the editor of a national newspaper to jail. Six months later she returned to dancing - commanding fees higher than ever.

"Last year happened like a bang. Oh my god. I just stopped everything. It was written in all the magazines. Somebody called and told me. My first reaction was to get out of here so I went abroad. I kind of hid.

A week later I felt less shocked. I closed everything. I stayed at home for two months. Then I started to go outside a bit. After six months I started to act. But I missed dancing. My friends helped me. They said that this has happened and that if you meet any bad guy he can do this. You have to be strong. You have to continue your career, you have to be strong everyday.

And I still have to be strong - but now I feel like I didn't do anything wrong. Everybody eats, drinks, has sex. I have to tell myself this all the time. He was my husband and one day he'll come out of jail, but I don't want to see him. I didn't just have it all in public - I lost my husband too."

You studied philosophy of theatre at university. What did you enjoy about that?
"I liked the Sufistayeen (a philosophy based on the sufi mystical sect). When you say yes, they say no. When you say go out, they say stay in. I really love them. I also like Freud. How women can take care of her child. He put sex in the world. I like the way he talked about how to handle children. I respect him very much."

How does philosophy of theatre help a dancer?
"Philosophy gives you an experience of people. When I'm on stage I know what the audience is like. Then I can adjust my performance to suit the audience - this is very important for a belly dancer. I don't just do what I want - I do what they want."

How has the press coverage of the video affected your life?"I don't hear what people say about me. I'm a dancer - I do it because I love it. When I began I was full of power to do what I like: I didn't hear anyone. I love dancing. I'm not looking to my reputation, I love dancing. I don't care what people say. "

What advice would you give to a dancer just starting out?"Belly dancing makes women feel like they're feminine. That it's good to be a woman: that women are very beautiful. It's in the dress and the movement. For professionals though, they must train, train, train. I train three days a week, another three days in the gym and another one for different dancing - like jazz, like cha, cha. They must take the ballet bar, for hands, for the head, the have to do yoga. They have to keep smiling in the mirror."

How do you see the future of belly dancing in Egypt?
"Things have been going downhill for the last four years. Bars are changing to different styles and there aren't many Egpytian belly dancers coming up. That's what has allowed foreigners to come in. This year I've seen in video clips that they're belly dancing, but they're called singers. It's more acceptable like that.

Actually, I'm not seeing anything new. We need ten or twenty good dancers but there's not even five. It's very bad. If it stays like this then the future is outside - in Europe. In Finland I did a workshop - I was standing on stage and in front of me 800 women were practicing in a hall. And from that thousand some good dancers will come."

Source: YogaTravel