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Building with what we have: turning the first weeks of class into our first dance.  I can’t believe we’re already four weeks into the year. We’ve done so much in such a short time, and now we get to start using all of it to build our first dance. This is really important to me in how I teach. Those first few weeks aren't separate from making dances. Students learn warm-ups, participate in community-building activities, experiment with creative tasks, answer questions, and get comfortable dancing with one another. Along the way, they learn new skills and concepts, and those experiences give us material we can use to build dances. I also encourage students to move with intention and effort from the moment they step into the studio. The whole class is practice for performance. Everything has matters. Choreography can be inspired from anywhere, including the community-building and introductory activities we do during the first week of school. One of my favorites is the “Shape Shop.” Students watch our previous dance concert to get a sense of what the program looks like and draw stick figures of shapes they notice in the choreography. While they watch, I have time to help students get their lockers set up. It’s a win-win. We use the drawings to talk about angles, curves, symmetry, and other elements of shape. Then students look through all of the shapes and “shop” for one they want to work with. Later, those shapes become the beginning poses for our first dance. By September, I start to see those first few weeks really take shape. In Dance 1, we begin with Warm-Up in a Blender, combining sections from the four warm-ups we have learned into one phrase. Then we start adding movement from our first few weeks. We might begin the dance with poses from the Shape Shop, set to the opening beats of one of our warm-up songs. As we build, I introduce canon, mirroring, and other choreographic elements that add texture to the dance, explaining what we are doing along the way. Because we practice the warm-ups on both the right and left sides, it’s easy to explore these new ideas. In Dance 2, we begin exploring how dance connects to personal experience. Using my friend Alicia Langlais’ Dance Dragons Workbook as a starting point, students explore their own history with dance: the positive experiences, challenges, influences, and feelings that have shaped them as dancers. We then use those reflections to create movement, making their own experiences another source for choreography that can come up around dance and performance, and translate those ideas into movement. Personal reflection becomes another source for choreography. I’ve written more about how I use the workbook to build this dance in a previous blog post. In Dance 3, I try to give students lessons based on what I see they need for growth. I watch how they move and create, and I use that to decide where we need to go next. This year, I felt it was important to focus on movement quality and locomotor skills, so I created prompts that gave them a chance to explore those areas while also blending with the choreography I had already given them. The prompts became both a learning opportunity and a way to build the dance. And then we use it all. The goal is for students to experience how to create and use movement, develop it, make choices, connect ideas, and take something that may have started as a simple classroom exercise and turn it into choreography, equipping students with the skills to do this on their own. Photo by Patrick Albert
For more tips like this, check out my book, Choreographing the Curriculum. www.amazon.com/dp/B0DQWYMJY9?lv=shuf&channelId=500&plpRedirect=mhFallback
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 It’s August. I feel like I just finished the spring semester.
The back-to-school ads are everywhere, reminding me that another school year is just around the corner. Part of me is excited to start planning new lessons and imagining a fresh group of students. Another part of me just wants everything to slow down. I want a little more time to read, take classes, hang with my pups, and enjoy the slower rhythm that summer brings. Then the calendar flips to August, and my teacher brain starts filling with lesson ideas, choreography, and everything I want to accomplish before students walk through the door. One thing that gives me peace of mind is knowing I already have a starting point. Every June and July, I begin building a playlist. It starts with song recommendations from the new Dance Company members and grows as I spend the summer listening to music and collecting ideas. With a playlist and my warm-up framework in place, I can begin plugging in the skills, concepts, and lessons I want to teach. In my book, Choreographing the Curriculum, I share the warm-up framework that has become the foundation of my teaching. Along with the warm-ups, you'll find lessons, choreography prompts, and classroom strategies that help build technique, creativity, and community from the very first day of school. These tools eventually become part of the dance-making process. They aren't separate from the curriculum—they become the curriculum. The warm-ups, creative prompts, improvisation, and classroom experiences all become movement vocabulary for choreography. That philosophy guides both my choreography and my students' choreography. As we create dances throughout the year, we're not starting from scratch. We're building from the movement, ideas, questions, and experiences we've already explored together. The choreography grows naturally from the curriculum. It's a reminder to do what you know, use what you have, and make what you need. So yes...it's August. In my next post, I'll share what that beginning actually looks like: the lessons, activities, and routines I use during the first week of school to build community and set the tone for the year. You can get a copy of my Choreographing the Curriculum here. www.amazon.com/dp/B0DQWYMJY9?lv=shuf&channelId=500&plpRedirect=mhFallback Photo: Patrick Albert  Once final exams roll around, I’m usually running on empty, and honestly, I think the students are too. It’s the final push of the year, but I still want it to feel meaningful and connected to what we’ve been doing all year. So I always start thinking: what makes a good final exam in dance? How can it assess student learning while still feeling creative?
One thing that always gets me excited is choreographing a dance, so “Dance in a Day” has become one of my favorite ways to approach finals. It gives students a chance to create in real time, collaborate, reflect, and use the choreographic and movement concepts we’ve practiced throughout the year. Over the past couple of years, I’ve kept coming back to one project that has felt especially meaningful: the end-of-year reflection collage. Of course, we use the collages to create a dance on the day of the final exam. By now, most students already know that if I assign something creative, there’s a good chance it will eventually become a dance. Part of why I return to this project is that students reflect as they actively create. The assignment gives them structure, but also allows them to make it their own. Students create collages about their year in dance, filling the page with memories, challenges, performances, vocabulary words, quotes, rehearsal moments, lyrics, colors, and images that reflect their experience in class. What I love most is that students are building a visual archive of their year. Here is how I structure the lesson: Part 1: Create a Collage Students include:
In groups of four, each student has one minute to share and explain their collage. After each presentation, the group responds by sharing what they noticed, heard, remembered, or connected to in the collage. Part 3: Make a Dance The collages become the inspiration for choreography. Students pull words, themes, images, and emotions from their collages and translate them into movement. I usually start by making a list of what we already have in the room. I contribute choreography, the students contribute choreography, and everything becomes part of a class dance. This year, I chose “Dancing Queen” by ABBA because I wanted the final to feel fun and celebratory. Then we begin building choreography task by task. I like guiding students one section at a time so they can layer material as they go. Sometimes I ask them to keep the choreography in a specific order, and sometimes I let the groups decide. It depends on how structured I want the final dance to feel. Some choreographic tasks include:
*For my Beginning Dance classes, I adjusted the assignment to meet the group's needs. Students created a 32-count phrase, and I omitted the section inspired by past warm-ups and class dances. If we had more time, I would have included it. As always, adapt the structure to fit your students' goals and timeline.  Every annual concert is a unique time capsule, shaped by the students, current events, and evolving dance styles. This realization hit me during tech rehearsals this year: these performances are more than collections of choreography. They capture our students' lived experiences and emotions in this specific moment.
In my classroom, checking in on how students feel and what they want to dance about is standard practice. I believe in using what we have to create what we need, so bringing these personal reflections into the concert is a natural progression. This process helps students learn to articulate their thoughts through movement. To help the audience connect with the work, we include student-written summaries read from backstage before each piece. These summaries offer a clear window into their creative thinking and personal journeys. Watching their choreography often makes me feel protective, especially when they share difficult stories. While I want to shield them from hurt, I am constantly struck by the depth and honesty in the work. Even the tech crew noticed the intensity this year; many of the dances were vulnerable, direct, and deeply moving. Reflecting on my own past choreography, I can clearly see my own life stages mirrored in the work. Seeing my high school dancers tap into personal, sometimes difficult, themes is both humbling and inspiring. It is an honor to witness their willingness to share these stories. Looking back at past concerts, I can see history reflected in everything from music choices to recurring themes; it’s such a reminder. From dances about a specific group that was full of drama to this year’s piece, inspired by our new cell phone policy. It’s a reminder that anything can be transformed into movement, and that each concert becomes a snapshot of a particular moment in time: special, reflective, and impossible to recreate in exactly the same way again. Photo by Patrick Albert  Building a lasting dance community.
One of the best parts of my job is staying connected with alumni. When I entered this profession, it never occurred to me that I would build connections beyond high school graduation. I have been to weddings, celebrated college graduations, learned about their fascinating careers, and even become colleagues and close friends with some of them. But when they volunteer their time to support the program, it’s magical. My heart is full, and I feel so much pride in the community we’ve created. Whether they pop their heads in while I’m teaching or reach out to guest-teach a class, their support and unique perspectives are invaluable. Over the years, these visits have become a special part of the program. As our next concert approaches, I reached out to alumni to mentor current students. The response was overwhelming, and seeing everyone so eager to give back meant a lot to me. It speaks volumes about the community we've built. When I told my students, the excitement in the room was palpable. They look up to those who came before them, and the alumni are just as excited to support the next generation. Through this partnership, students see what's possible when they work with someone who has been in their shoes. As alumni step into leadership roles, current students rise to the challenge. I'm so proud to have been part of their journeys, and seeing them return to guide new dancers is one of the most meaningful parts of my work. It’s a reminder that what we do in the studio continues beyond high school. Photo by Patrick Albert, a Lowell Dance alumnus.  Lovely teens- Two words that don’t always go together.
I was out recently for family medical reasons, and I worried. You leave plans. You assign helpers. You hope for the best. When I came back, the substitute left a note: “Lovely teens.” “Excellent instructors.” I smiled reading that. There’s a weight teachers carry when we’re out. Life happens. And we still care deeply about what happens in our rooms. To know my students showed up with respect, especially when I wasn’t there, made me proud. Not because they were being watched, but because that’s who they are becoming. Lovely teens, I’ll take it.  Each warm-up is a chance to use what we have and make what we need.
One of my favorite activities is turning a simple warm-up into a class dance. Each warm-up focuses on a specific movement idea. We practice together in unison, gradually adding choreographic elements and techniques until something new starts to form. This method helps students learn particular movement concepts, refine them, and then experiment with direction, phrasing, and other components of choreography. When leading the first dance in the class, I like to start with something high-energy that grabs students’ attention and creates excitement. The isolation warm-up is a favorite because the music is lively and current, and it emphasizes isolating different parts of the body in various ways. It offers endless opportunities to develop skills that transfer across styles and connect to future choreography. The warm-ups are designed to involve the right and left side of the body, supporting compositional practice and overall skill development. They’re perfect for exploring mirroring and canon, as these choreographic tools naturally develop from repeated movement patterns. Each lesson builds on a specific movement idea, reinforcing vocabulary and preparing students for deeper choreographic exploration. This year, I drew inspiration from Lady Gaga’s “Abracadabra.” It’s full of intricate details and dynamic contrasts. We studied choreographer Parris Goebel’s style, discussed her creative process, and observed the contrasting shapes, energies, and pathways between dancers in red and white costumes. To connect this study to our classwork, we began with isolation exercises and choreography inspired by the video. I then introduced dance qualities such as sharp/soft, fast/slow, and rise/fall—elements that challenged students to vary dynamics and intention. We expanded this with an improvisation activity called the Class Spell, where students generated movements based on prompts and combined them into a shared phrase. Finally, students worked in pairs to choreograph eight counts inspired by either the “red” or “white” qualities observed in the video, turning observation into original creation. These components can be adapted and combined to fit any classroom. It’s up to each teacher to decide how and where they fit, adjusting the “recipe” to match their dancers, goals, and teaching pace. Warm-ups are more than physical prep—they’re invitations to create. When we use warm-ups to make, we show students that every part of class can lead to choreography. Nothing is left unfinished; our work begins the moment we step into the room. This is a practice I share more fully in my book, Choreographing the Curriculum, where I offer other practices to use make a dance with your warm-ups. Photo: Patrick Albert  I admit, I’m having a hard time getting motivated to start another school year.
After the most amazing, heartfelt concert celebrating 25 years, the last part of the year nearly broke my spirit. End-of-year wrap-ups, student conflicts, and changes to next year’s course selections left me feeling depleted. I lost myself in the chaos. It’s not the first time that happened, but this time it lingered.
I used the summer break to step back and reflect on why I was feeling so depleted, I found that I was doubting my practice, strategies, and teaching methods. After all of these years, I was questioning my purpose. The deep love for dance, and the excitement of sharing it had been clouded by the year's challenges. At that moment, I realized that to fulfill my passion for teaching, I had to rediscover my purpose and return to my roots: celebrate my practice, voice, and the artist I am. Today, I stepped back into the studio and took a moment to be in the space. It was the perfect moment to move for myself. I shifted weight from side to side then front and back. I turned on the music and stretched my arms up to the ceiling and then allowed them to drop with a bounce in my knees. It felt good. This simple moment to was the perfect spark I needed to begin creating the introductory warm-up; movement that feels good, that I’m excited to share, and that brings me joy. Lesson refinement is always part of my practice, but this year needs to start with sharing my voice and feel connected to my work. I’m leaning on my own method: Do what you know. Use what you have. Make what you need. Starting from what feels most authentic allows me to meet my students from a place of vision and joy. There will be times to step back and let them shine, but that doesn’t mean disappearing. This year, I’m making the conscious choice to center myself so I can better center them and holding space for both our voices. Joyful movement is my motivation for this year. Movement Offering: I use all my experiences and inspirations when I create. Here is a movement prompt that honors these ideas and focus for the year.
For more on the strategies and reflective practices that guide my planning, you can explore my book, Choreographing the Curriculum, where I share tools and questions designed to help dance educators create programs rooted in both their own artistry and their students’ voices. a.co/d/1OXhygN Photo Credit: Patrick Albert On this Mother's Day, I'm filled with gratitude as I reflect on the profound influence my mom has had on my work. Her guidance and support continue to shape my dance teaching practices, and today, I celebrate her impact on my journey. Here's to you, Mom. Thank you for everything. Miss you every day.  As I reminisce about my mom's impact on my teaching practices, I recently stumbled upon one of her old lessons titled Propel Your Lessons with Dance and Movement: The Ultimate in Active Learning. It was a unit designed to encourage the implementation of dance in the elementary curriculum. As I studied the unit, I noticed her approach to the lessons looked familiar; she used themes to drive her lessons. Instantly, I felt connected to her, tears welled up in my eyes and I and then began to laugh and realized I set up my lessons like she did. Themes drive most of my lessons. I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. I can hear her saying “I told you so” with her signature smirk. Themes were integrated into her entire unit in various ways, always to share how to incorporate dance into the core curriculum. My mom created lessons using the who, what, why, and how format. She used songs like Getting to Know You from The King and I and The Beach Boys’ Do You Want to Dance, created surveys on why we dance, and connected dance elements to subjects like math and science. I imagine her brainstorming themes and concepts in our living room, dancing, and singing aloud. I thought it was cheesy at the time, but I get it now. She met the teachers and students where they were and incorporated her content goals in an approachable manner. My teaching methods are deeply rooted in my mom's thematic approach, which I've incorporated with three key components: movement, choreography, and research. These elements are intricately woven into thematic lessons, creating a holistic and engaging learning experience for my students. I carry her legacy with me every day, she remains my greatest teacher and continues to inspire my approach to education.  Photo by Ron Parker
Concept and Map design by Gail Fernandez Jones Creating an environment where students are at the center of the creative process.  The amount of collaboration with my students has increased over the years. I always thought that it was my job to make up all of the movements and direct every bit of the dances for the class and concerts. I quickly learned that taking on choreography for five classes wasn’t sustainable. Furthermore, it was very teacher-centered and didn't focus on the students’ movement experience or creativity. I needed to balance satisfying my excitement for dance-making and giving the students a say in the creation. Initially, it felt like I was giving up too much control and losing my artistic self, which didn’t feel great. Still, it became an exciting place where the art of directing the collaboration became exciting—modeling, leading, and supporting their ideas.
Realizing that I wasn't the only one with ideas opened up an entirely new way of working. Additionally, the projects became much more interesting because of the originality of each piece, and I learned more about the students as individuals. Directing the collaboration is a skill in itself. Planning, patience, and a willingness to let things get a little chaotic before a result is achieved takes time. It is something I continue to practice and learn from. I direct the collaboration by starting with a theme or area of focus and designing lessons that support the dance-making process. There are different degrees of this type of collaboration. At the beginning of the year, I have stringent guidelines with an outline with little room for change. We essentially “plug in” the tasks and movement practices into specific parts of the chosen music. As the year progresses, the students have more choices, and the dance outlines have more room for student offerings and designs. For example, at the beginning of the year, I will direct the students on how we will begin the dance. Later in the semester, I may ask them, “How do you see this dance starting?” A vital component of this collaborative process is asking questions. I begin by assigning each student the same task and then find a way to share or combine with a peer or group. For example, each student may create a phrase based on their “super-power,” and then they would teach it to someone. The combined phrase could be manipulated in ways you wish to see in a dance. However, it is essential to have each student answer, create, and make it alone before joining forces, checking in individually, and ensuring everyone has their voice heard and understands the content. Asking for student input has become a big part of the curriculum; modeling the creative process helps me assess the room's temperature and determine how to proceed. Questions to consider when directing the collaboration: What kind of dance do you want to create? What do you want to dance about? Now that we have begun, what happens next? Is this concept resolved? What are we missing? What is the story arc? What do you want the audience to take away from this dance? You can ask the class or use these questions as warm-ups or exit prompts. I like to use small pieces of paper to get all of the students' input. I can then spread out the answers to create a plan for our rehearsal. Inspiration boards with the music map are beneficial as well. *Photo of mapping a piece of music with ideas posted in the section of interest from the students. |
